


The 28th Amendment

by SantivaPotter_93



Series: AU Political Glee [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, Bullying, Drama, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, Family Secrets, M/M, Politics, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 10:45:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SantivaPotter_93/pseuds/SantivaPotter_93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While their fathers attempt to air out the other's dirty laundry on the congressional floor, high school seniors Sam and Mercedes find themselves stuck in a case of "fatal attraction" and end up bringing their closest friends and enemies along for the ride. Democrat!Mercedes and Republican!Sam. Prequel to Crossing the Aisle</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Party Platforms

**Author's Note:**

> The same rules from Crossing apply here: not trying to preach a political message here, but there will be some references back to politics. It'll be a bit more than in Crossing the Aisle because they're younger they can't ignore it as much as they could when they were older. The 28th Amendment is starts in the fall of 1999. We're going to be borrowing from several storyline plots made canon throughout Glee but just because you recognize something does not mean that it'll end the way that RIB handled it. Additionally, if you haven't read Crossing the Aisle, I would suggest reading it but it's not critical to your understanding of this story. Also there will be some interesting changes to some characters, just go with it. Everything will be explained over time and without further or do I hope you enjoy Crossing the Aisle's prequel The 28th Amendment!
> 
> And special shout out as always to my lovely beta Jill!

Chapter 1 - Party Platforms

Every now and then, Blaine Anderson needed to let go. He tried not to make a habit of it, lest he turn into Jeff Sterling, but sometimes he just needed a break from being the only son of Levi and Astoria Anderson and the sole heir to the financial fortress known as Anderson Incorporated. Today was one of those days.

"Don't be a snob Anderson," a blond haired, blue eyed devil teased. "Share the love man."

Jeff Sterling, son of the Secretary of the Army from the Department of Defense, stood at

Blaine's side as they over looked D.C from an abandoned hill. Jeff wore a dopey smile thanks to the joint in his right hand, though he was still eyeing the cigarette in Blaine's left. Blaine was just about to comment on why Jeff shouldn't even have the damn joint when the crunch of leaves echoed throughout the abandoned plateau. Blaine snatched the flashlight that had been resting idly on the ground below and shot the light towards the wilderness behind them.

"Oh look, Blondie's here," Jeff smiled.

"Who are you calling 'Blondie'?" Blaine said. "Your hair is fucking platinum."

"Who gave Jeff a joint?" Sam asked as he reached the two boys.

"He had it on him by the time I got up here," Blaine explained. "Where are David and Wes?"

"On their way up," Sam replied. "Nick is with them."

"Good," Jeff said after a long drag. "It's the last weekend before school starts and since the world is apparently going to end once the millennia hits in January, this is one of the last chances I'll ever have to fuck some shit up."

"You've got at least a few more months, don't worry," Sam said.

"Why are we friends with him again?" Blaine asked Sam.

"Oh no, he's your friend Anderson," Sam replied.

"If we didn't do it then he'd be dead," Nick half-teased as he emerged from the forest with Wes and David. "And yes Jeff, it does take all of us."

"You bitches love me," Jeff grinned.

In truth they did. Five of the boys had been in school together since preschool. Blaine and Sam had been diaper buddies and David had fallen in line by 7th grade. Sam was just happy that his

"Jeff babysitting duties" were restricted to weekend and summertime as he was the only one who did not attend Dalton Academy.

"What is on the agenda for tonight?" David asked, "Other than making sure that Jeff doesn't get killed or worse incarcerated..."

The boys chuckled as Jeff shrugged. "Even if we did run into D.C.'s finest, our road trip to Alexandria taught us that Blaine here can make just about anything disappear!"

"Not true Jeff," Blaine sighed.

"Let's please stop talking about Alexandria," Wes said. "Just thinking about that night gives me a headache."

"That was a fun night," Jeff grinned.

"That was a long ass night," David corrected, "which is why I am suggesting we stay in our own area code tonight."

"Isn't there a McKinley party going down tonight?" Nick asked.

"Oh? McKinley broads? _Me gusta_ ," Jeff grinned.

"You know if you actually called a girl a 'broad' to her face, she'd probably rip your balls off," Sam told Jeff.

"That sounds better than having my balls being taken hostage by Quinn Fabray," Jeff shot back.

"Can we please not go there tonight?" Sam whined.

"No, let's talk about how you somehow managed to agree to an arranged marriage at 17," Blaine piped up.

"I mean seriously dude, what the fuck?" Jeff added. "While I commend her for bouncing back so quickly did you really have to draw the straw to be her bitch?"

"Jeff shut up," Wes said. "And Blaine you're being dramatic."

"Thank you Wes," Sam said. "It's just to keep my parents at bay."

"I'm just shocked that he actually thinks it'll work," David sighed.

"Screw you guys," Sam groaned. "Are we going to this party or not?"

"Yeah let's go," Jeff said. "The Ice Princess is still out of town, so this Sam's last chance to get some. I want some ass and Blainers over here desperately needs it. Dude I can't remember the last time you got laid."

"Jeff when was the last time you slept with a girl that _didn't_ lead to persistent stalking and/or a restraining order?" Blaine shot back.

"I think he was four." Nick laughed as they all made their way down the hill.

While some headed out for the night, others like Mercedes Jones were content to stay in for the night; not that her best friend Kurt Hummel agreed.

"We could go to that party," Kurt suggested.

"Let me get this straight, you _want_ to go party with people that we're going to be forced to socialize with all year long? I love a good time Kurt, but dealing with egotistical asshats like Finn Hudson and Dave Karofsky or sex sharks like Noah Puckerman doesn't exactly fit my bill as a good time."

"But staying cooped up in your room on a Friday night does? Come on 'Cede. You only go through senior year once-unless you're Puckerman, but that's beside the point! We need some fun, some adventure!"

"You mean alcohol?" Mercedes said flatly.

"Fine, if we stay here then you're going to come clean about why you keep stalling with Shane Tinsley."

Mercedes leaned back against her pillows and groaned. All summer long Shane had been trying to convince her to let him take their friendship to the next level. He'd been sweet and charming about it and Mercedes didn't really have a good reason for continually saying no other than the fact that she still maintained that something just wasn't there with Shane. Mercedes wasn't the type of girl to believe in Prince Charming, but was a spark too much to ask? What would be the point of going through all the motions if she really didn't feel something unique for the other person? Her mother did caution her about getting caught up with some idealized trigger that's supposed to lead to true love, but Mercedes Jones wasn't looking for true love. She just wanted someone she could connect with.

"C'mon 'Cede, snap out of it!"

"Sorry Kurt," Mercedes blushed.

"So will you humor me please?" He begged. "Just for one night?"

"Well, we both have the Senator's brunch tomorrow so we can't be too late."

Allison McHale's party was everything Mercedes thought it would be: alcohol, half naked teenagers and more booze. One of the many "perks" that came along with being a child of a politician or _cop_ was the lack of attention. Lack of attention often led to pity gifts like fast cars, expensive clothes and everyone's personal favorite-money. Mercedes spent the first half hour in her usual "just say no" mode, but after she was pulled into an innocent game of beer pong with Kurt, the alcohol seemed to keep flowing. By the time she made it upstairs to the second story bathroom to cool down, Mercedes wasn't quite sure how long they'd been there. She couldn't have been in the lavish room for more than five minutes before all of the lights flickered out and someone downstairs yelled, "Blackout!"

Taking a deep breath, Mercedes felt her way out of the bathroom and down the hall until she ran into a pair of soft, pillow lips.

"I like your fingers," the deep voice of a male complimented.

"Thanks," Mercedes giggled, the alcohol loosening her speech. It also did wonders for what Kurt usually defined as her "stiff" demeanor.

"Mind if I get a bit more acquainted?"

A sober Mercedes Jones would have never let anyone suck on her fingers suggestively, let alone a stranger, but as he did so. She couldn't help but put as little space between them as possible.

"I need those back you know," she told him softly.

Mercedes felt him release her fingers and nudge his warm cheeks against her own until her found her ear.

"I guess I'll just have to suck on something else."

Mercedes gasped as she felt his warm lips and tongue latch onto the side of her neck. She let him guide them aimlessly though the dark until they reached a sturdy surface. It was a wall or at least felt like one. Mercedes wasn't quite sure thanks to the alcohol and roaming hands of the stranger. It probably didn't help that her hands were also going on their own explorations of his body and his lips were leading a dangerous trail down to the top of her loose shirt. Her body rolled against his kisses and she let out a low groan when he abandoned his path to her breast so that their lips could meet.

"Fuck you're soft all over," he groaned in between kisses.

"I don't even know your name," she sighed as he started his trail down to her collarbone. Their hips had started a slow grind and Mercedes was in a desperate need for more friction.

"Sam," he hissed roll his hips against hers. "Lord have mercy, woman!"

"Just Mercy," she teased running her fingers through his hair. They stayed liked this, attached to the hip until the lights flickered back on. Both of them staggered away from each other as their eyes readjusted to the light. When Mercedes could see again, she was met with a set of clear green eyes staring back at her and a loud, "Oh fuck!" ringing in her ears.

Downstairs Kurt Hummel wasn't exactly having the best of times. Going out and breaking a few rules had sounded nice in the comfort and judgment free zone of Mercedes' home, but in the midst of beer stained breath and rowdy teens, Kurt wasn't sure that he could take much more of the whispers that were too loud to be considered as such. Was it illogical of him to think that a year and a half would be enough time for his classmates to get over his sexual orientation? It was no secret among the McKinley Preparatory students that Kurt Hummel was gay. It wasn't everyone's knowledge of the fact that truly bothered Kurt—it was the fact that the majority of them were convinced that he was a card carrier of the "gay cancer" and was going to spread it to all of the males in his year by simply being in their presence. Even though the amount of AIDS related deaths was on the decline, Kurt Hummel was still regarded as the freak and it seemed that no time could change that. Despite of all of that, he managed for the most part to keep his head up, avoid reckless situations, like being alone with Dave Karofsky, Rick "the Stick" Nelson, or even Finn Hudson, the three golden boys of the Republican Party. Kurt stayed active with the Glee club at McKinley and managed to keep hold of one of his oldest friends in the process of coming out. With only one year left at WMP Kurt Hummel had a lot to look forward to.

"Someone shoot me now," groaned a male to the left of Kurt.

"Sorry, I'm fresh out of ammunition for the night," Kurt replied. "I'm Kurt Hummel by the way."

"The famed son of the Democratic congressman?" the boy asked.

"The very one and you are?"

"About to kill Jeff Sterling," he replied darkly looking ahead of them. There was a small blonde boy arguing rather animatedly with Dave Karofsky, a senior at McKinley Prep.

"Go fuck yourself Karofsky," Jeff slurred, swaying slightly as he stood up to the older and bigger offender. "You're just pissy because your girl preferred my horse to that poor excuse of a penis hiding between your legs."

"Jeff," the curly haired boy growled as he approached the situation.

"Pack your boys and their shit and get the fuck out of here Anderson," Rick Nelson, Dave's right hand man, ordered as he stood by his friend's side.

"Can it Nelson, I don't take order from you," Blaine snapped. "Jeff I want you to shut the fuck up while these two gentlemen go back to enjoying their miserable excuse for lives on the other side of the damn room."

"Why don't you assholes just scram to the other side of the damn river," Dave snapped. "This is _our_ side of town."

"Last time I checked, you were a momma's boy Karofsky, not a Crip gang member," Blaine snarled. "Save that bullshit for someone who actually gives a fuck."

"It's still a free country asshat! Besides, the last time I checked there was no obnoxiously large tower with your last name on it, so I think that makes DC Anderson-town bitch, and your asses grass," Jeff added.

"Get out," Dave growled.

"Make us," Blaine dared.

"Fuck you bitches," Rick spat.

"I'd rather do your mother," Jeff replied nonchalantly. "At least she'd be an easy lay."

That didn't sit well with neither Dave nor Rick. Kurt wasn't sure who swung first, but the makeshift dance floor quickly turned into a brawling match. Kurt watched as two other males, a tall Asian and an African American, tried to separate the boys. Kurt didn't see an end until Sam Evans managed to bulldoze in between Anderson and Karofsky. No one seemed too keen on punching Sam in the face, which made some sense as Sam Evans was the son of the most powerful Republican on the Hill. He was also known as a tad bit of a political outcast at McKinley, favoring the company of super senior Noah Puckerman over the more popular Finn, Dave and Rick. Apparently he also had a soft spot for the Dalton boys too.

"Get them the fuck out of here Evans," Karofsky spat.

"Go cry to your mother David," Sam replied as he pushed the blonde, Jeff Sterling, towards the door. "No one is here for you or your petty bullshit."

By the time Wes and David were able to wrangle up Nick, who'd been too preoccupied with a busty brunette to see the earlier damage, the black eye on the right side of Blaine's face was starting to darken.

"That's going to be a bitch to cover up," Sam told him passing Jeff off to David. "You know we've got that Senator's event in the morning."

"Fuck I forgot all about that," Jeff groaned.

"You would," David snapped. "And what the hell were you and Dave Karofsky arguing about?"

"Some chick who'll probably come back to stalk Jeff later in life," Wes sighed. "Let's just get onto more important things, like where the hell were you Sam when this all started?"

"Upstairs," Sam replied shortly trying not to relive his blackout fantasy with one of his family's oldest rivals.

"With who?" Jeff pressed grinning like a mad man with his own black eye and bloodied nose.

"No one," Sam told them. "By the time we were getting somewhere, this kid ran up to tell me that a fight had broken out downstairs."

"Damn that's a shame," Nick sighed. "Good going Jeff!"

They each gave their bruised blonde friend a smack on the head for good measure before piling into David's ride and driving off.

By the time Sam rose the next morning, he was acutely aware of two things: One-hangovers hurt like a bitch, and two—hangovers mixed with dreams of the ass of Mercedes Jones' were even worse. She wasn't even on the market and even if she was, Jones would be way too high strung for him, despite all that softness. Damn, why hadn't he at least…

"Rise and shine bitches! It's a brand new day," Jeff Sterling yelled as he strutted into the guest bedroom that Sam and Blaine were sharing. Jeff wore a million dollar smile and a loose robe that didn't leave enough to the imagination.

"Jesus Jeff, put on some clothes!" Sam groaned covering his eyes.

"How is he even awake right now?" Blaine moaned against his pillow.

"Genetics," Jeff shrugged. "Most hangovers usually wear off after about an hour or so."

"I'm convinced that you manipulated your gene pool as an embryonic sperm," Nick grumbled, entering the room. "Between this and your eidetic memory, you truly are one rude bastard Sterling."

"Aww thanks Nicky," Jeff teased. "And since you two boys weren't born so lucky, drink this, you're going to need it."

Jeff offered Sam and Blaine two small flasks but Sam instantly turned his head away.

"Last time I let you give me a hangover cure, I _still_ had to spend the afternoon over the toilet because it tasted like piss," Sam frowned.

"It's the real stuff," Wes announced as he walked into the room. He was already half-dressed.

"Where are we?" Blaine groaned.

"My guest bedroom," Nick replied, "but that luncheon starts in a few hours and if you don't want your asses handed to you by your mothers, then I suggest that you drink whatever the hell Jeff gives you and get your asses up."

Following Jeff's wake up call, Sam managed to drop off Blaine and make it back to his house in record time. Somehow though, his mother was still waiting for him in his bedroom.

"Long night?" she asked sweetly, which was usually a pretext to something that would be rather uncomfortable for Sam.

"Sorry I didn't call last night," Sam apologized. "We fell asleep playing video games."

"Am I supposed to believe that?" Martha Evans asked her son frankly.

"Well yeah, considering we practically OD'ed on Nick's candy machine and the sugar pretzels that his older sister made for us," Sam replied. It wasn't a complete lie. All of those things did actually happen…a few weeks ago.

"Mrs. Evans," one of the family butlers, Roland, interrupted, "Senator Evans requests your assistance in the lower parlor ma'am."

Martha nodded to Roland and then turned back to Sam and warned, "Don't let me catch you bending the truth Samuel. I'll make you wish that you had just flat out lied."

"Yes ma'am."

"Now, we're leaving in about an hour and a half. Don't forget to put on one of your better suits. We're meeting the Fabray family before we arrive at the luncheon."

"I thought they were still in California?" Sam sighed.

"Judy and Russell decided to fly the family back early," his mother said. "Now go on and take your shower. I want you looking your best, and make sure you wash your hair thoroughly. It still reeks of alcohol."

Sam starred at his mother completely dumbfounded as she made her exit.

By the time Mercedes Jones was roused from sleep, she couldn't have been happier for the distraction. Her dreams had gotten a bit too hot and heavy, but seeing her older brothers Rashad and Devon loom over her was the perfect buzz kill.

"You're both still here?" she smiled.

"Jeez you'd think she's trying to get rid of us Dev," Rashad teased.

"Nope just you," Devon chuckled, "and it's probably because she wants to get rid of your girlfriend."

"Dude shut up," Rashad groaned. "Mom already thinks that she's a hoe."

"That's because she _is_ a hoe!" Mercedes said. "Alexis Green is a good for nothing—"

"—lazy ass hoe," Irene Jones finished walking into her daughter's bedroom. "Did you have sex with that girl Rashad? I hope not, because I am not about to let you give me lazy ass grandbabies!"

Mercedes and Devon both leaned back in laughter into Mercedes' bedding as their mother started her Alexis rant again.

"I just don't understand why you can't date a nice respectable girl," Irene sighed. "Like Morgan!"

"Eww, ma! That's like dating my sister," Rashad shuddered. "Morgan and I are _just_ friends."

"And what are you two laughing at?" Irene Jones snapped at her younger children. "You all better find this as troubling as I do because I know you don't want to have to babysit any kids that come from that Alexis girl. And yes, you two would be babysitting them because I sure as hell will not. This house is not a daycare, and that goes for the three of you!"

"Relax ma," Devon smiled. "We won't be going down that road for at least a few more years."

"We'll see," Irene Jones replied. "Now Mercedes baby, I need you up and dressed so we can leave for this luncheon. Let me warn you now, Shane Tinsley and his family are downstairs."

"What?" Mercedes yelped as her brothers snickered.

"Honey relax, this is a classic William Jones move, though it wouldn't kill you to go one date with the boy," Irene told her. "C'mon boys, let your sister change."

Once they left Mercedes let out a loud sigh. Her father had been on her case for weeks now about why she couldn't just say yes to Shane Tinsley. Simon Tinsley and William Jones went way back; their families had been friends for years and it seemed that the two of them believed that she and Shane could make quite the couple if she were only willing to give it a chance. It wasn't that she didn't like him; Shane was a sweet boy, respected his parents and had a plan for himself, which was more than she could say about a lot of boys she knew. Normally Mercedes would be over the moon but with Shane it just wasn't…

" _Fuck you're soft all over…"_

 _Well shit_ , Mercedes thought as she threw the covers off of her body, _perhaps I do need to give Shane the time of day._

By the time Mercedes made it downstairs fully dressed everyone was waiting on her and Shane was quick to shower her with compliments as he had been doing for the past few weeks.

"Thank you Shane," Mercedes replied giving him a soft smile.

"Not a problem," Shane said to her. "You know Dad is letting me drive the Lincoln Mark, you're welcome to join us in the passenger's seat."

"Oh that's so sweet," Irene interrupted. "I do like style Shane, but I don't like you _that_ much. Mercedes, get in the car with your father and let's get out of here and to that damn luncheon before I lose the nerve."

"Are you going to be this fun throughout the entire brunch Irene?" Sharon Tinsley, Shane's mother, asked lightly.

"I'll be alright so long as someone keeps me away from Judy Fabray," Irene replied.

" _Just_ Judy?" Mercedes scoffed.

"I can't slap minors that don't belong to me," Irene shrugged. "So for now, yes just Judy."

The Senator's luncheon was a long standing tradition held in late August by an elected Senator from the majority party that brought families from all congress members together. The brunch also brought together high ranking officials from the 14 cabinet—including the family of Arnold Sterling, the Deputy Secretary of Defense.

"Evans family," Jeff Sterling greeted cordially as Sam and his parents walked through the tents where the luncheon was being held.

"Jeffery," Martha replied. "I see you didn't tear down half of Washington last night while you boys were playing with Nicholas' _gumball machines_."

She didn't bother to shoot Sam a look but he did his best not to redden under the curious glance from his father.

"That would be quite the story," Jeff said giving Sam's mother his best smile.

"I'm glad you agree," Martha said leaving her son with his friend.

"You know I've been thinking—"

"Never a good thing," Sam groaned cutting Jeff off.

"And I think between my eidetic memory and your decent intelligence, we should be able to find that girl you were trying to lay last night," Jeff continued.

"Just forget it Jeff," Sam hissed. "I have a girlfriend, remember?"

"No, you my friend have a set of rusty chains wrapped around your dick. You're in desperate need of liberation. What we need to do is find your Prince Charming to get the key to your chastity belt, Cinderella. Speaking of which, was it a dude? Because you know I don't pass judgment!"

Jeff had to raise his voice for the last bit as Sam had begun to walk away from him, but the young Dalton junior was not deterred. Jeff Sterling always got what he wanted and he was going to figure out who was this mystery girl that Sam seemed to be too quick to forget.

An hour had quickly flown by and Sam was already half listening to one of his father's co-workers lecturing on and on about welfare reform when he saw Mercedes. She admittedly looked good in her sundress and Sam was slightly surprised by the scowl that developed as he watched Shane Tinsley hover over her. He looked desperate as fuck to Sam. He couldn't completely tell if Mercedes was simply humoring Tinsley or genuinely interested but when her eyes found his, Sam had his answer.

He caught up with her about a half hour after that. She was standing in between two of the food tables that ran parallel, collecting food on a small plate.

"You shouldn't stare," she hissed without turning to face him.

"My apologies," Sam replied. "Enjoying your afternoon with Shane 'the Bulldozer' Tinsley?"

"I'd rather have Shane on my arm than deal with the Ice Princess," Mercedes snapped. "Speaking of which shouldn't you be attending to her every need and not staring at me?"

"It wasn't always like this though was it, Mercy?" Sam pressed.

"Do not call me that," Mercedes spat turning around to face Sam. Usually Sam would have been amused by her petty anger. They had only shared a few kisses after all, nothing to scream over, but he was too taken by how captivating her brown eyes were to notice the lethal tone in her voice.

"Last night never happened," Mercedes continued facing away from him again. "You're not going to tell anyone and neither am I because we've both got too much to lose."

That part was true. It would be a sheer nightmare if their parents found out, even if there was much to tell. Ultimately the drama of it all wouldn't be worth much of Sam's time. Still, he couldn't help remember what his grandfather always told him: campaign promises almost always get broken.

Unaware that he'd said the last bit aloud, Sam was slightly surprised when she turned to face him again and nearly growled, "That's not a campaign promise Evans. It's my party's platform. I will end you if you breathe a word of last night to anyone."

"You'd only resort to that because you'll be too frustrated by the fact that you can't have this on a regular basis," Sam teased wanting to see how far he could push her.

"I won't have a problem with that Mr. _Lord Have Mercy_! You just make sure you stay on your side of the aisle Evans, and I'll be sure to stay on mine."

"Pleasure doing business with you Jones," Sam said. "I suppose I'll be seeing you on the congressional floor."

As Mercedes Jones walked away David Makin Jr. came to stand by Sam.

"What did Mercedes Jones want?" he asked watching Mercedes rejoin Shane.

"Nothing, she was just being a hassle" Sam shrugged.

"Shame about that lineage, I wouldn't mind taking a girl like that for a spin," David said.

"Something tells me that you're not her type," Sam told him, shaking off his own frown.

"Neither are you asshole," David laughed.

"I know," Sam replied. "So how about we both stick to women that we're better off with."

"Well I have no problem being fabulously single while you get dragged around as Quinn Fabray's trophy husband," David teased. "Speaking of which I hear she's looking for you."

"In eight short months none of this, not Quinn Fabray or Mercedes Jones will matter," Sam said leading David to where their friends were congregated. "Let's just stick to the endgame shall we?"

"Sounds good to me."


	2. Necessary Roughness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While their fathers attempt to air out the other's dirty laundry on the congressional floor, high school seniors Sam and Mercedes find themselves stuck in a case of fatal attraction and end up bringing their closest friends and enemies along for the ride.

"Are you paying attention to anything that I'm saying?" Quinn Fabray snapped glaring at her boyfriend of almost three months.

Sam Evans liked to think that he wasn't normally too bad at the whole "boyfriend" thing. Lucky for him, Quinn typically had a schedule to adhere to so he didn't have to do much. The boys had teased him about becoming Princess Quinn's trophy wife but he knew it was true. Sam was just a piece in Quinn's fine-tuned new image: so was the cheerleading uniform, her status as captain, the silver cross that hung from her neck and the studded pearls in her earlobes. She'd done the impossible, bouncing back from being a lone pregnant junior, kicked out of her parent's home to being back at the top of the food chain pyramid and making every socially conscious student bow to her feet. Jeff Sterling was right; it was damn near impressive.

"Sam!"

"Sorry," Sam apologized. "There's just been a lot on my mind lately."

"Well, you could share whatever's bothering you," Quinn said, as she set down her lip gloss to give him her full attention. "I'm not here to just look pretty on your arm, you know. You can talk to me, Sam."

"It's not that big of a deal," Sam shrugged. "I've dealt with it before."

That wasn't a lie: Sam had been dealing with the pressures of his father since birth. Richard Evans was a Cornell man and as were many of the Evans men before him, especially the first born. The only recent exception Sam knew of had been his grandfather who took charge of his ill mother at Sam's age and went through a local university to earn his degree. When his mother had passed, Ronald Evans followed in his family's footsteps—a set of potholes as Sam liked to fondly refer to them as—from the grassroots level all the way to the Hill. Ronald Evans was just one of the many legends that Sam was "lucky" enough to share heritage with and if he was to follow in that legacy, his issues in Calculus were going to have to come to a screeching stop. The fact that Sam had failed his last two Calculus tests bothered him not because of any aspirations for Cornell, but because his struggles had caught the attention of his parents and while Sam didn't consider himself a loner, he knew well that it was always better when he didn't have to get the Senator or his wife involved.

"Fine," Quinn replied, putting away her make-up. "We need to discuss the Holiday party."

"That's like 5 weeks away," Sam said, frowning.

Sam never did get to figure out what Quinn wanted to discuss about the Holiday ball thanks to a bald-headed, slightly chubby African American boy who approached their table with an exasperated look on his face.

"Please tell me that your name is Quinn Fabray," the out of breath boy said.

There were a few tale tell signs that the boy was new. Other than the fact that hardly anyone just walks up to a table where Quinn sits, this new kid wore the full version of the McKinley Preparatory uniform, where most students either chose between the polo and the sweater vest. He was quick to sit down at their table, desperate to find a place to belong.

"Yes, I'm Quinn Fabray," the blonde said slowly. "You must be new to McKinley."

"Yes," the boy smiled. "I'm Wade. My mother and I just moved to the Hill."

"So you're a cop," Quinn replied perking up considerably. "This is my boyfriend Sam."

"You said you moved with your mother?" Sam asked with a slight frown. While it wasn't unusual for new families to move after the early November elections, most families waited until the New Year and Sam was quite sure that he'd already met all of the new Republican cops that were to join them before January.

"Yes, my father isn't in the picture," Wade said politely. "I moved here with my mother, grandmother and older brother. My mother took George Brown Jr.'s seat in the House of Representatives."

Sam bit back a groan as he watched the wheels form in Quinn Fabray's head. Brown, who'd passed in mid-July, had spent over 30 years in the House of Representatives as a _Democrat_. Sam looked over his shoulder to check to see if there were any Democrat cops around, but they either all ate lunch outside or had the joy of 2nd lunch.

"It's so nice to finally meet you," Wade continued blissfully unaware. "I've heard so many great things about you. Mrs. Irene said that I should definitely…"

"Shut up," Quinn snapped cutting off Wade. "Irene Jones sent you?"

"Well, yes," Wade stuttered. "Aren't you two…?"

"If you breathe the word Democrat, I'm going to make sure that you're the next freshman to get the "Apple Turnover" special in one of our _dumpsters_ ," she snapped. "You're a cop so that entitles you to certain privileges around here, but sitting next to me during my lunch hour and wasting my time is not one of them. So get your ass out of that seat and you can send Irene Jones my regards."

"She said that you were different," Wade replied as he stood to leave. Sam was mildly impressed by how quickly his voice turned to ice. It had been a while since he'd seen someone try to step to Quinn Fabray. "Find Quinn Fabray. She's McKinley's princess. She's got a good heart. I guess she was wrong."

"Oh go cry a river to someone who actually cares," Quinn shot back, "like her precious daughter Mercedes. But do understand that I do run this school Wade, and I will end you if you even think about talking to me again."

"Trust me Ms. Fabray," Wade replied, "that won't be a problem."

When Wade left the table, Sam leaned over to his girlfriend and asked, "What the hell was that Quinn?"

"It's not a big deal," Quinn shrugged as she collected her things. _"I've dealt with it before."_

"I swear to God, sometimes I could just smack the taste out of that Rachel Berry girl," Kurt Hummel groaned as he and Mercedes Jones walked towards Mercedes' locker.

"I'm just thankful that she's a junior," Mercedes sighed. "If I had to deal with her in any more of my classes, I'd have to kill her."

"But if you got caught, then you'd have to go to prison, though that would at least save me the money I'd have to invest on some 'Hoe-be-Gone' spray," Kurt teased.

"Excuse you!" Mercedes laughed.

"Girl don't you know? 'Hoe-be-Gone' is expensive!"

The two friends laughed as they reached Mercedes' locker.

"Remind me to stop by the front office to pick up my new tutoring schedule," Mercedes said to Kurt.

"You're still tutoring? I thought that you were going to give that up?"

"Well according to Senator Jones, being a high school tutor looks excellent on college applications to Harvard, Howard, Yale and Brown," Mercedes shrugged.

"What about the music schools at NYADA? USC? Oberlin?" Kurt gasped, ready to knock her with his music theory text book.

"Well the good Senator doesn't know anything about those auditions and applications, and that's the way it's going to stay."

"Oh you will have to spill the details on that after school tomorrow," Kurt vowed. "Speaking of which, I have an assortment of films what you must watch. First off will be…"

"Hey baby."

The two teens turned to see Shane Tinsley towering over them. Mercedes reached up to give Shane a quick kiss on the cheek. The pair had been going strong for the past 2 ½ months now. Mercedes knew that while she wasn't in love with Shane, he was still a good guy and treated her well. Who knows, maybe in another 2 ½ months she'd be ready to say the L word. Shane was flanked by Azimo Atkins who nodded politely to Kurt and Mercedes before taking off.

"So baby, I was hoping that we could have some private time after school tomorrow," Shane began.

"I already have…"

"Baby, please?" Shane interrupted. "You know that's the last free afternoon I have before practice gears up for that big game coming up."

In less than three weeks, the McKinley Titans would be playing their final game of the regular season against rival Lake Ridge Buckeyes. If that wasn't enough, the senior night would also serve as Scout's night. From the rumors, Ohio State and Stanford were set to come, but like most Ivy aspiring children, the school was buzzing with news that the head coach from Cornell would be arriving.

The Titans were known across the county for their Fantastic Four—Finn Hudson, the star quarterback, Shane, the defensive end, Damian Lewis, the running back and Sam Evans, the wide receiver. Mercedes found it rather hilarious that in a star team that gelled so well on the field, three of its four "Super Stars" couldn't stand each other. Shane, however, often simplified it as they all loved winning.

"Go ahead 'Cedes," Kurt offered. "You can pay me back later. "

"I will, I promise," Mercedes said.

"Thanks Kurt," Shane smiled putting an arm around his girl.

"You're welcome," Kurt replied, giving the couple some space.

Kurt Hummel wasn't jealous of his best friend, well not extremely jealous, but he was hopeful that Shane's last minute plans wouldn't become a habit. He liked Shane, but Mercy was his girl too and he had no intentions of spending his senior year as the third wheel.

As Kurt made his way down the hall, he nodded politely to his classmates. He didn't get much in return, save for the odd looks. There were those like Artie Abrams and Tina Cohen Chang who were less concerned about their reputation and kind enough to wave back. Kurt had known them almost as long as he'd known Mercedes. Watching Artie flirt shamelessly with Tina was a favorite pastime of Kurt and Mercedes', though Kurt did hope that eventually Tina would say yes to the smooth criminal.

"Woman, my Michael Jackson moves are almost as legendaryas the man himself!"

In his laughter, Kurt almost didn't notice Dave Karofsky and Rick Nelson heading inside the boys locker room. They hadn't noticed him yet, but Kurt stilled his pace at the sight of them. Grabbing his politics book from his gym locker wasn't worth the hell he'd get if he walked through those doors, especially not when McKellen always had extras stocked in his room.

"Yo Kurt, you okay?" Artie asked as he jogged up to him.

"Yeah, I just forgot something in my last class," Kurt lied. "I should head back and get that. It's good seeing you Artie."

"Yeah man, you too."

With his lunch with Quinn Fabray cut short, Sam Evans took the time to swing by Principal Figgins' office for a private word. It was no secret that the man wasn't a fan, and downright scared of most of the children of politicians because of the heavy baggage that many of them came with. Santana Lopez was practically untouchable despite her razor sharp insults that she shared with just about everyone. Girls like Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry were seen as sugary sweet by most of less tenured staff, but neither one of these girls had a problem using their pretext as "Daddy's little girl" to ensure that they got their way. For the most part, Sam wasn't into all of that. It came with too many headaches and he didn't want his parents in his business like that, especially not for this.

"Mr. Evans," Figgins greeted as Sam walked in, "a pleasure as always."

He took the time to shake Sam's hand, though it took Sam almost double the time to get it back.

"I assume you received my email?" Sam said as he sat down.

"Yes, yes everything has been arranged to your specifics," Figgins assured.

Perhaps in a normal high school where he could wear jeans more often than first and third Fridays or where his parents didn't socialize with the finest of DC's lawmakers on a regular basis, it wouldn't matter so much that Sam was barely hanging onto a C in Calculus. He needed at least a solid B to stay of the parental radar and if he failed another one of June Weathersby's test, his parents were going to get a phone call from the woman herself, which would undoubtedly lead to even bigger problems. Besides, Sam needed to keep his GPA up for baseball season in the spring, especially if he wanted to make captain.

"Cassie VanHuesen will be your tutor, starting Thursday during your free period," Principal Figgins explained. "Ms. VanHuessen is an excellent student, top 5 in your class and as requested not among your political peers."

Above all things, Sam was not interested in having it get out amongst the other cops that he needed tutoring. It wasn't that he was necessarily ashamed, but Sam had enough pressures in his life without adding the gossip of others.

After Coach Bieste released them from practice Sam discovered that he had several missed calls from Jeff Sterling.

"What's poppin' Slick Rick," Jeff asked as he answered the phone.

"You know Blaine is the one who uses the colossal amount of hair gel everyday not me," Sam said as he threw his bag into his car.

"Yeah, but you did attempt to dye your hair freshman with lemon juice. You looked like a punk too!"

"Jeff, please remind me why you're calling again…"

"I'm hosting an extravaganza at the Park Hyatt after that McKinley-Lake Ridge game. Something tells me that we're going to have a lot to celebrate," Jeff said.

"More reasons why Dalton Academy needs its own football team," Sam sighed shaking his head. "I hope you didn't put too much money down on a bet Jeff."

"Please, with all the fucking scouts that are supposed to be at that game there's no way you bitches will fuck it up," Jeff replied. "I'm putting my money in good hands—that's why I'm betting against you."

"Asshole!"

"Just kidding," Jeff laughed, "though I was tempted. Anyway, the parentals will be on the West Coast by the time that game comes around and even though you'll be sore as fuck you're still coming for a victory beer. Besides Cinderella, it's been awhile since we've knocked a few back together. Who knows, we may even find your Prince Charming!"

"How about I agree to come if you agree to drop the Cinderella jokes?" Sam bargained.

"No problem. We're meeting at Nick's this weekend so don't be late, Sleeping Beauty!"

Sam didn't even bother to correct him.

School the next day ran like the day before and those that had gone on before it. When it ended for Sam, he spent his last practice free afternoon with Noah Puckerman at a local batting range on the south side of town. Quinn still had cheerleading practice which thankfully left Sam void of any "boyfriend" duties.

"Man, fuck football," Puck said as he readied his baseball bat. "Tell me when the real sports season begins."

Sam enjoyed playing football but agreed with Puck about the American pastime. He lived for baseball season and while he was well aware that several school were looking at him as a potential for a football scholarship, Sam knew that if he were to become a student athlete, it would be because he had a rosewood bat in his hand.

"Don't let Coach Bieste hear you say that," Sam chuckled as he worked on his swing in another cage.

"The Bieste is dope, but I don't give a shit about any of those assholes on that team," Puck said. "Seriously dude, fuck a Finn Hudson and I swear that if Tanaka tries to make him captain of our squad come February…"

"Relax Puck," Sam smirked. "There's no way in hell that's going to happen and even if it does you'd still be good, I hear Coach Roz is always looking for new blood on her swim team."

"Not funny dude," Puck said gravely turning to face Sam.

"What? Swimming is _sexy_ ," Sam teased knocking away another ball.

"Not when it's synchronized! _Fuck!"_

Sam nearly shed a tear watching Puck recoil thanks to the ball that hit his square in his shoulder.

"Looks like the machine disagrees," Sam chuckled.

"Screw you!"

By the time Sam made it home that night, he was drenched. After doing several rounds in the batting cages, he and Puck tested out their pitches, ran some laps around the property and then hopped into Puck's truck to head to a nearby gym.

" _I can't wait till graduation this year," Puck said as they took a five minute break from the weights._

" _You're serious about graduating this year?" Sam asked. Puck was on his third attempt at senior year. He'd failed the first year as a fuck you to his grandfather, a legendary campaign manager for the conservative right. The second year Puck told Sam that he'd just wasn't really paying attention to his school work. None of it had really mattered to him. Puck's defiance to his grandfather the year prior made him look like a god to the freshman cops and other students, so he'd soaked it up for all that it was worth—right into summer school._

" _I am so fucking done with high school," Puck told Sam. "I would have just gotten the GED over the summer, but the old man wants the diploma. Plus I'm getting my entire inheritance if I walk in May."_

_Sam had almost dropped his water when he heard that. The Evans' like the Puckerman's came from a long line of politicians filled with old money. Their two families were the only ones who had an inheritance of extreme wealth. Sam's was of such that he'd only receive a ¼ of it come graduation and another 1/3 once he graduated from college and the remaining forty percent in increments until he turned 35. To receive all of it now…Sam couldn't even begin to think of what he'd do with all of that money._

" _Are you sure it's legit?" Sam asked Puck._

" _The old man took me to the bank himself," Puck explained. "The order for the transfer is being processed as we speak but the money won't officially drop until May 27, 2000."_

" _What are you going to do with all that money?"_

" _I'm going to buy a bike and I'm going to head straight for California," Puck answered as Sam took a seat next to him._

" _To do what?"_

" _I don't know, but for once in my life I don't want to know. I don't want a plan or a schedule. I just want to get there and fall into something. Find something to love and just be free."_

_Sam couldn't fight the envy building for Puck. In a little over 6 months, Noah Puckerman would have freedom, real freedom._

" _You know they say we always come back," Sam said slightly solemn._

" _The ones who come back are the ones who want to come back, even if it is just a small part of them," Puck said. "I'm not saying that I'll never return, but right now I'm on the final countdown. But enough about May, how are my Dalton boys? Is Jeff Sterling throwing any mad parties this week?"_

" _I look back on the day that I introduced you to Jeff and wonder what drugs I was on," Sam groaned, rising to his feet as Puck laughed._

" _That blonde little tyke is my boy!" Puck grinned. "And it's good of you to look after him the way you do."_

" _Wanna join the club?" Sam asked. "We could always use another babysitter in the rotation."_

" _Nah dude, I'm good," Puck said. "I plan on getting my diploma and getting the hell out of this place and I know damn well that Jeff and I have too much fun together. Just tell Blondie I said 'what's up'."_

Sam dragged his feet through the foyer of his parent's house and followed the aroma of food until he reached the kitchen. Martha Evans, his mother, was already cleaning dishes in the sink.

"You ate dinner without me?" Sam asked setting his bags down on one of the empty chairs.

"Well you smell like death and your father is pulling a late one at the office tonight," Martha Evans said scrubbing her plate. "I decided to let the kitchen staff have the night off since I only needed to cook for one."

"Oh," Sam replied, trying to fight the guilt of knowing that his mother had probably hoped that he would have been in earlier.

"Your father called," Martha continued. "He wants you to swing by his office. He said it was important."

"It's after November, and the Republican Party is still in control of both the House and the Senate. What could be so important?"

"Does the name Monica Lewinsky mean anything to you?" Martha Evans asked.

"They gave up on that effort six months ago. All Clinton would have to do now is plead the fifth, thanks to double jeopardy."

"So you do listen to the things that we tell you," Martha Evans teased.

"Besides, I was getting sick of Dad's lecture about William Jones' power trips."

"Shh," Martha teased, "we do not speak of its name."

"Should I run around the oak tree three times and then kiss the carpet to avoid bad luck?" Sam smirked as he took a bite into an apple.

"Yes and then afterwards go find out what your father wants," Martha Evans said lightly. "Either way, next November Bill Clinton is going to have to start packing his bags. I'm sure your father is hard at work making sure that Al does have to do is simply move a few blocks."

"Al Gore as President," Sam shuddered. "I don't think it gets much worse than that."

"Let's just thank God for the 22nd Amendment and move on with our lives."

When Sam reached his father's office, he was armed with several bags of Chao's Chinese, a favorite of his family's and his father's staff. The order had already been placed when Sam stopped in to pick up some spring rolls to munch on, so he decided to grab the larger order along with additional side order of fried rice.

"Bless you child," one of his father's staffers said as Sam walked in taking the food from him. "Your dad is in his office."

Richard Evans sat in his large chair surrounded by stacks of bounded papers—new regulations or bill proposal, stuffed with enough pork to make anyone sick—while holding another large three ring binder.

"The food's here," Sam announced and those assistants and staffers left in Senator Evans' office quickly made their leave.

"Working hard or hardly working?" Sam asked taking a seat across from his father.

"I'd say working hard considering that I'm one of the few right minded conservatives not interested in having a George Bush as our Presidential nominee."

"Not hopping on the Bush train? They say everything's bigger in Texas," Sam teased.

"Bigger not _better_ ," Richard Evans grumbled. "I'd much prefer Texas to be its own country than let its governor attempt to destroy this one. However, right now George Bush is the least of my concerns. Make sure that door is closed Samuel. We have something very important to talk about."

It was a cool night for the second week in November, but the weather only aided to the immense feeling of numbness that surged through Blaine Anderson. He had never believed in fairytale endings and as he stood on the abandoned plateau that overlooked D.C. Blaine had the excellent pleasure of remembering why.

"I'm sorry."

Blaine didn't turn around to face him. He'd known that Sam had been standing in the forest trying to figure out the best way to express his well-meaning sympathy. 'I'm sorry' wasn't particularly original, but Sam was well aware of Blaine's low tolerance for elongated pity.

"What for?" Blaine replied. "Unless you're here to tell me that my father was doing you too."

Sam didn't say anything but instead made his way closer to the stoic brunette.

"Did Wes call you?"

"No," Sam replied, "though I spoke with him and David on the way here. I figured that you'd want to come here to clear your head."

"If you knew that, then why did you come?"

"Because I also know that there's a difference between needing some space and cutting people off," Sam warned. "You're not alone in this and I'll never have a problem with giving you space Blaine, but when I give you an inch, you often take a got damn mile."

"Maybe I need a goddamn mile!" Blaine snapped turning to face him. "Ever think of that Evans? Maybe I don't want to talk about it to anyone."

Sam gave Blaine a few moments to calm down before saying, "Just because you may not want to talk about it now, doesn't mean that you won't have to later. Just remember that when you are ready, we're all here to listen."

"Did you know?" Blaine asked quietly turning away from Sam.

"Know what?"

"The name of the woman. No one will tell me who the other woman was," Blaine explained. "I know you it was your father who told you, so my question to you is: did you know?"

"No," Sam answered.

"And your father, do you think he knows?"

"I can't tell you half of the things that my father knows, but I wouldn't be surprised if he did," Sam answered truthfully. "The real question is, do you really want to know and what the hell are you going to do with that answer?"

Sam Evans woke the next day with the same headache he had since he'd left his father's office the night before as he left to go find Blaine. Richard Evans had dropped the news of Levi's affairs as delicately as he could, but even as he spoke, Sam was sure that his father was up to something. He'd been nothing short of furious when the Senate couldn't garner enough votes to impeach Clinton last January, thanks to the influence of William Jones. If Anderson Incorporated went down, it would be because of the divorce between Levi and Astoria that could possibly be the end of quite a few careers. Perhaps not his father's, but definitely colleagues key to his father's influence on the Hill. Astoria Anderson wouldn't be able to simply walk away from her 20 year marriage, even if she did own considerable stock interest in the company. And that made Sam Evans nervous; so nervous that it threw off his entire schedule. Sam found himself late for everything that day, including his first tutoring session with Cassie.

"I am so sorry that I'm late," Sam apologized entering the study section of the school's library. All Sam could see of Cassie was her behind as she was bent over picking an item off of the floor. "Today has just been so— _Oh fuck!"_

As his tutor sat back up throwing her thick brunette curls over her shoulder, Sam dropped the loud expletive. While it had been a while since he'd thought of her—and a good thing too as she'd frequented a few too many of his private fantasies—the timing truly couldn't have been worse.

"You're over fifteen minutes late Mr. Evans," Mercedes Jones snapped as she put her fallen book back onto the table, "and I believe 'oh fuck' is what you said the _last_ time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 22 Amendment: Limits the President to only 2 terms
> 
> "Plead the 5th": refers back to the 5th Amendment which sets out rules for indictment by grand jury and eminent domain, protects the right to due process, and prohibits self-incrimination and double jeopardy
> 
> I'm going to try to start leaving footnotes at the end and if you think there was anything political-wise that wasn't accurately explained send me a PM and I'll make those corrections! Again it won't be too politically based but they are children of politicians, it's going to come up. As always I have to give thanks to my lovely beta Jill. Thank you for reading!


	3. Friends & Enemies

Mercedes Jones remembered the first time she'd laid eyes on Sam Evans. Even as a young girl, Mercedes couldn't deny that the boy was cute. He had the attention of all of the girls, not that he often knew what to do with it. She distinctly remembered Finn Hudson, who even as a six year old was a self-righteous pig, tried to strike up a friendship with the blonde boy. That was how they ended up crossing paths. In the first grade Sam Evans was just Sammy, the quiet blonde haired boy who never made a point of speaking to her. Mercedes didn't even know who the Evans family was, but when Sam had marched up to her one day on the playground, kicked her sandcastle to the ground and called her a dummy, she'd been reduced to a mess of tears. William Jones had raged that night once he found out who had upset his baby girl, calling Richard Evans almost immediately while her mother calmly explained that there were some people who weren't as nice as others. Sam Evans had given her an apology the next day, his face red and his eyes trained to the ground as Blaine Anderson stood at his side. In the eleven years that passed, Mercedes was sure that those two had never left the other's side. Since day, Mercedes hardly had any verbal communication with Sam. Then came that one little drunk night and now weeks later she was his tutor.

Mercedes chuckled to herself as she waited for Kurt Hummel to exit one of the many stores in the Old Post Office Pavilion. While being Sam Evans' tutor had not been her idea, Mercedes had been downright furious when she caught him in the front office trying to change his schedule.

" _You are such a coward," Mercedes had hissed at him, marching up to the counter top. "You can't even handle someone tutoring you!"_

" _No, Ms. Stay-on-your-side-of-the-aisle," Sam argued. "I'm fine with having a tutor but_ this _is not what I signed up for!"_

" _Well I'm sorry that Daddy couldn't buy you a ditzy little blonde to meet your needs, but this is the real world Evans," Mercedes snapped. "Sometimes things don't go as planned."_

_Sam's eyes turned into slits as he dragged her into a more private area of the office._

" _Don't talk down to me about the real world as if your current reality is somehow radically different from my own."_

" _I'm not the one demanding for favors," Mercedes threw back._

" _Not too long ago you were demanding for favors too," Sam reminded darkly._

" _We both were," Mercedes amended, "but that changes nothing. Cassie asked me to help you because Figgins overbooked her and she's having a lot of personal problems right now. Besides Cassie, I'm the only student in our class who passed Calculus with no less than a 98. If you really want the turnaround you need, it would be in your best interest to take my help."_

" _Let me get this straight," Sam said slowly. "You want to help me? Why?"_

It bothered Mercedes even now that she really didn't know the answer to that question. Sure, she didn't have much against Sam before August and even with that night in consideration, she still felt compelled to help him. She would never hear the end of it from her family, primarily her father and her brothers if they knew that she was offering to tutor an Evans, though it was her father who always told her to "keep your friends close, and your enemies closer." Perhaps the closer she kept Sam Evans, the better off she'd be against him going soft on their deal.

"Mercedes!"

She was pulled out of her thoughts by Kurt, who now stood before her with several shopping bags filled with purchases for the two of them.

_And to think, this was supposed to be a "quick" trip!_

"Hope you're having fun with your doll faced boyfriend, Wheezy. Soon, he'll be the only man you'll ever keep!"

Mercedes and Kurt were brushed by Santana Lopez, who was with a small gang of cheerleaders that snickered openly as they passed. Even as the daughter of a Democratic congressman, Santana felt the constant need to put down anyone at will. She had never been a fan of Mercedes, but while she stood at the top of the food chain last year in Quinn's absence, Santana hadn't spoken two words to her. Mercedes supposed that now that being debunked back to Number 2 meant that everyone was a target.

"At least I'm not kissing the ass of Quinn Fabray!" Mercedes snapped back.

"You would know all about kissing ass wouldn't you Jones?" Santana sneered. "Seeing as you were the blessed saint who let her into your house. How's that working out for you? You two still BFFs?"

Mercedes didn't bother responding to Santana's mirth as the leggy cheerleader led the other girls away.

"I hate cheerleaders," Mercedes grumbled as Kurt led her to the next store.

Despite Santana's intrusion, Kurt found the shopping trip to be a great success. He was able to talk Mercedes out of buying leopard print rain boots and she saved him from walking away with yet another pair of designer shorts. If he'd gone past his credit card limit again his father would have killed him. After Mercedes confiscated the card, she led Kurt to the food court for some ice cream. As they chatted lightly about their weekend plans, Kurt caught a familiar face in the crowd.

"Wade! Wade Adams!"

The sophomore was apprehensive at first but eventually he made his way over to their table. Wade had been introduced to Kurt and Mercedes last week by Laurel, one of the school orientation guides.

"Kurt and Mercedes, right?" Wade asked as he approached their table.

"That's right. How are you Wade?" Mercedes greeted. "Sit down!"

"I'm alright. I like your boots, Kurt," Wade complimented as he took a seat.

"Louis Vuitton," Kurt smiled showing them off, "the key to my heart."

"I thought it was that British guy, Alexander something," Mercedes frowned.

"Alexander McQueen, you mean?" Wade said. "He's still very new on the scene but his work looks promising."

"You speak the language of fashion?" Kurt asked. "Oh we have to keep you around!"

"I don't keep up with it as much as I would like," Wade blushed, "but thank you. That's probably the warmest welcome I've received since moving here. I never would have thought that everyone here would be so…"

"Pigheaded, annoying, egotistical?" Mercedes supplied. "Just be glad that you only have to deal with these people for a few years. Some of us have had the pleasure of knowing gems like Santana Lopez since pre-school."

"You'll find the right clique of friends eventually, Wade," Kurt added. "Everyone does. If there's one good think about McKinley Prep, it's the fact that there seems to be someone for everyone there."

"Have you tried going out to any of the after school activities?" Mercedes asked. "I don't think there's a fashion club."

"That's because most the students into fashion are girls and those girls are right where they should be—Leighmeister Academy," Kurt said.

"Why's that?" Wade asked.

"Because this year Jesse St. James is running their fashion club as a part of his community outreach," Kurt explained.

"The _designer_?" Wade asked his eyes growing wide.

"I heard that he's an asshole," Mercedes cut in. "And didn't he graduate from Dalton?"

"Oh he is the biggest asshole of all assholes," Kurt replied. "And since Leighmeister is the sister school to Dalton, Mr. St. James offered his expertise. Those girls were already getting discounted tickets to his show at fashion week but once their instructor retired…"

"I think I'm going to have to start looking into a sex change," Wade mumbled.

"You don't need the vagina to be in the club," Kurt said, "though I would still suggest going for the surgery. Only Leighmeister girls or Dalton boys can learn under his tutelage."

"Isn't there a three year waiting list for Dalton?" Mercedes asked.

"Yes," Wade affirmed. "My mother tried calling them halfway through her campaign just to see."

"Dalton is the premiere school for boys in DC. McKinley is a close second but our girls blow the Leighmeister princesses out of the water every year in academia," Kurt said. "In all seriousness, if you really want to get in with Jesse St. James, go with the surgery. Leighmeister is an easier school to get into anyway."

"What about the pain and scars from the surgery?" Mercedes teased.

"Darling, we're you the one who always told me that beauty is pain? If beauty is pain, imagine how much blood, sweat and tears go into creating fashion?" Kurt replied.

"Forget I asked," Mercedes chuckled, shaking her head. Wade and Kurt almost immediately went into an intense conversation about the previous spring's fashion week and Mercedes couldn't help but smile. Just a week ago Wade had looked so scared walking through the halls of McKinley. It was nice to watch him slowly find a place of his own.

At one of the more high end restaurants of the nation's capital, there sat a young blonde who knew all about finding her own—or at least convincing her family of such. Quinn Fabray's senior year was going just as planned. She may no longer have the star quarterback on her arm, but Sam Evans was a more than sufficient replacement. In fact, Quinn didn't want Finn Hudson back, nor she sure as hell didn't need him.

Quinn sat with her parents Judy and Russell, barely listening as her father droned on about his day on the Hill. She wasn't quite used to dinner with her family without the presence of her older sister Frannie. Last year the eldest Fabray daughter decided to finish her education at the University of Pennsylvania, leaving Quinn all out of luck when she found out that she was with child. She never knew the father, nor did she really want to. The entire Beth situation was complicated to say the least. The best thing she could have done for her was give her up for adoption.

"How are things with Sam dear?" Judy Fabray asked sweetly, pulling her daughter from her thoughts.

"He's fine," Quinn answered. "Training hard for next week's game. All of the boys are."

"Ah the great rivalry," Russell Fabray smiled. "It should prove to be an interesting night."

"Yes it should."

The three Fabrays turned to see two identical giants, though Finn hadn't quite perfected his father Christopher's sickening smirk.

"Christopher Hudson, what a lovely surprise," Judy greeted with such sweetness that made the malicious intentions behind it even more pronounced.

Christopher and Russell stiffly shook hands and Quinn prayed that would be the end of it. Of course being the chivalrous gentleman that he was, her father offered for both Finn and Christopher to sit down. Quinn put on her best smile, but she wasn't interested in an evening of "our family is _still_ more superior that yours".

"Actually if you and Mrs. Fabray didn't mind, I was hoping to get a private word with Quinn," Finn said giving his best smile.

Quinn knew exactly what this was about and it was high time she got this conversation over with. She had learned during her freshman year that Finn Anthony Hudson was an acquirer of fine things: Cars, clothes, and accessories. Everything that had Finn's name on it were well made, so why shouldn't the girls he courted? This was the mentality that put Quinn in the worst of binds this time last year. Finn had not only dumped her but publically humiliated and denounced her at the Governor's Gala, an event that brought together nearly all of her classmates and their families, plus the families of over 10 state Governors. He made a show of telling everyone that his precious girlfriend had not only betrayed him by sleeping with another man, but worse she was pregnant. She'd always known that word would get out, but that had not been the way that Quinn Fabray wanted it to go down. Her father had shipped her things to her sister's that night, despite the fact that Frannie was packing to leave. Not even her own mother would speak to her. Technically Quinn had no proof of that, but the way her mother threw gifts at her now that she was back in good graces and tried to make time for just the two of them screamed guilty to Quinn.

"It's a beautiful night wouldn't you agree?" Finn said as they reached the restaurant's balcony.

"What do you want Finn?" Quinn asked shortly.

"Look Quinn I know things were awkward for us last year," Finn began.

"Awkward?" Quinn snapped. "You hung me out to dry Hudson!"

"And it was completely wrong of me," Finn continued. "I need you to know how sorry I am Quinn. I never meant to hurt you that way. I went to my father for advice and was given an ultimatum: you or my inheritance."

"Half of your inheritance," Quinn corrected. Finn's parents had been divorced since middle school. Carole did make a gracious effort to keep Christopher in her son's life. However, at the end of the day, Carole was the political face of the family and everyone knew that Christopher despised that.

"You tried to ruin my reputation for half of your inheritance," Quinn snapped.

"You already ruined it when you decided not use contraception, Quinn," Finn said. "And would you have treated me any differently if the tables had been turned? I know you, Que. What I did was wrong, but we weren't together for two and half years because opposites attract!"

More than anything, Quinn hated when Finn was right. Her relationship with him had been laced with a superficial sense of loyalty. Each had expected the other to be loyal, but at the first sight of error she would have been more than prepared to throw him under the bus.

"What do you want, Finn?" Quinn asked again.

"You know what I'm asking for," Finn replied.

"Things with Rachel aren't going as planned?" Quinn sneered. "That tends to happen with _virgins_. They're rather clingy."

"You're one to talk," Finn threw back frowning.

"Who says I gave you my virginity?" Quinn scoffed. "I suppose since we're airing out the dirty laundry we might as well get to that little gem. And as far as your request Finny, I would rather let Sam put his dick in my ass than be seen in public with you again. You're right Finn, I would have thrown you to the wolves, but unlike you in your quickness to forget that night happened, I plan on remembering that night for a long time."

"Excuse me, can I help you two?"

Both teens turned to see a brunette waitress with a pixie haircut and a bright smile standing in the doorway entrance to the balcony.

"No thank you. We're done here," Finn said stiffly shooting one final flare at his ex before taking his leave.

"Your boyfriend is a real charmer," the young girl said. She couldn't have been much older than Quinn; perhaps a sophomore in college.

"Who said he was my boyfriend?" Quinn replied, giving the girl her full, undivided attention.

Christopher Hudson had departed from the table by the time Quinn returned and the rest of dinner went without a hitch. Her parents retired early that evening and at 10:30 Quinn found herself starring at her wall. It had been 45 days since she last cracked. Her short leather dress and strappy black "come hither" heels were mocking her as they lay before her, begging to be put on. 45 days since she had soft hands run down her sides, cupped her knees and thrown her legs over some slim shoulders. 45 days since she'd been touched, tasted, _fucked._ Quinn was now stretched out on her bed, her hands itching to snake down her own body and every time she closed her eyes she kept seeing the waitress from the restaurant: perky breasts, slim waist and full lips. Quinn moaned aloud imaging those lips meshing with her own before she snapped.

"Fuck it," she groaned reaching for the outfit and her keys.

The next day at school nothing, not even Quinn's gracious mood, could deter the anxiety that ran through Sam Evans' veins. Since their agreement, Sam hadn't been able to wrap his brain around the fact that Mercedes Jones for some reason wanted to help him. It could very well be a ploy, as he'd never given her any reason to befriend him in the past, but there was something about her that made him seriously doubt that. Mercedes had never been the type of _cop_ who tricked and slandered their way to getting whatever she desired. Hell, she wasn't even all that popular! She was in Glee Club for Christ's sake. Well then again, so was Rachel Berry and no one could miss that petite brunette even if they wanted to—and they all did. Rachel was a nightmare and from what Sam had heard, Mercedes was genuinely a kind girl. The only slightly interesting tidbit that he managed to hear was that she hated Quinn with the power of a thousand suns, but then again who didn't these days?

"Dude what is your problem?" Noah Puckerman asked Sam as they left the café from lunch. "You've been walking around like a zombie all day."

"I've just had a lot on my mind," Sam shrugged.

"Well nothing a few rounds in the cage can't fix," Puck said.

"Actually I need a rain check on cage sessions during our free period till about the end of the semester," Sam told him.

"Dude? What!"

"I've got some shit to handle," Sam said hastily. "You don't want Karofsky or Hudson as captain in the spring right?"

"Fuck no!" Puck exclaimed.

"Then let me handle this," Sam said. "Everything will work out. I promise!"

"I'm going to kill all three of you if I have to answer to one of those assholes, Evans!" Puck hollered after Sam as he jetted to the library.

Mercedes was already there, waiting on him in one of the private booths with a slight frown on her face.

"You're late again Evans," she said. "You'll need a pencil with an eraser."

"Quizzing me Jones?" Sam asked as he took his seat.

"Actually I am," Mercedes said sliding a single piece of paper his way. "One question, you have fifteen minutes."

In September, Sam would have scoffed at being given 15 minutes but in the eve of November, he knew better. She waited patiently as he reworked the steps on the paper and in his head. The book was allowed but Sam didn't bother to use it. It would take him too long to figure out what it was saying thanks to his dyslexia and natural ability to misread every mathematical problem known to man. At fifteen minutes Mercedes took the paper from him.

"So how bad was it?" Sam asked after a few moments. He'd never been too good with watching people observe or critique his work, especially when he knew that he'd failed.

"What are you expecting to get out of this?" Mercedes asked lightly.

"I need at least a B to stay off my parent's radar," Sam shrugged.

"That's it? All of this is about keeping up a persona for you?"

"Don't tell me you've never put in extra effort to make sure that your father stays off your back?" Sam pressed.

"Sure I have," Mercedes answered, "but that resulted in straight As. Do you have plans after graduation?"

"Of course I do," Sam said, "but I don't see how telling you any of that is relevant right now."

"I won't lie to you Sam, you need a lot of work," Mercedes began, "and if you really want to do well, it has to be more about you and less about them. You can't want the good grade; you have to need it, because as I'm sure you know the only way any of us are getting a taste of freedom is through college—in California."

"Actually I was looking at Alaska," Sam teased.

"It would be pretty hard to play football there," Mercedes said.

"Yeah, especially since I'm not interested in playing college football."

"No student athlete title for Sam Evans?"

"Oh you can keep the title just the wrong sport," Sam said. "Football is a great game but baseball is it for me. I've been watching since before I could talk. What about you Ms. Jones? You must have at least one lifelong obsession other than trying to get valedictorian."

"Why do you want to know?" Mercedes asked coyly.

"Other than the fact that you already know _more_ than enough about me," Sam shrugged. "Probably for the same reason you agreed to tutor me—I intrigue you."

"Don't flatter yourself Sam."

"Why because I know the truth?" Sam continued gaining more confidence as she flushed. "I rocked your world that night in August."

"You did not," Mercedes hissed.

"Oh really? That tight grip you had on my hair said otherwise."

"You're hallucinating Evans. And even if that were the case, it was probably because you were putting all of your body weight on me!"

"You liked being pressed up against me," Sam said lowly. "And trust me Jones that was not _all_ of me."

"Singing," Mercedes muttered. "My passion is music."

"You can sing? Sing something for me?"

"What? No, absolutely not. We're in a library Sam."

"So? It's a high school library no one comes here. C'mon sing something, perhaps how you feel every time you have to go home with your boyfriend since we both now know that you're thinking of me," Sam winked.

"You have a vivid imagination Sam," Mercedes replied. "Shane and I are happy."

"Yeah, that's why you look like the bride of Frankenstein every time you two are seen together."

"Why do you care?" Mercedes snapped. "You have Quinn Fabray. And trust me you two aren't the poster couple for "happily ever after" either!"

"But I don't deny that," Sam said. "Do you love him?"

"I'm 17. No one knows if they're in love at 17!"

"Bullshit," Sam replied. "Quit avoiding the question."

"What like you?" Mercedes snapped turning the tables on him, still baffled at how quickly the session had turned personal.

"Why do you care?" Mercedes repeated.

"I don't," Sam answered. "Kind of like how you don't love Shane Tinsley."

Mercedes glared long and hard and the blonde haired, green eyed devil before singing softly,

" _Never dug anyone like this._

_Never had tasty lips to kiss._

_Never had someone to miss._

_Never wrote a song quite like this."_

Sam was slightly confused, but more so impressed. Firstly, Mercedes Jones could _sing_. He wouldn't mind investing a good portion of his inheritance to any future CD sales so long as those albums happened now rather than later. With Mercedes busy singing, Sam didn't need to have a witty response on the ready—not that he did anyway. That extra time allowed him to really take her in. McKinley's school uniform wasn't overly flattering on her but when she sang Sam could see some of pure honesty that radiated from her. He'd caught a glimpse of it in the hall when she accused him of being a coward for trying to find another tutor. But now as she was in her element, it exuded from her and damn if it was contagious. He wanted, maybe even needed more.

_Fortunate to have you boy  
I'm so glad that you're in my world  
Just as sure as the sky is blue  
I bless the day, I found you_

"Fortunate to have you _girl_ ," Sam corrected. "And as lovely as that rendition was, that didn't answer my question Ms. Jones. I'm starting to think that you like playing these games, I suppose that would make _you_ the coward…"

"Impossible. I just conceded in your request to sing you a song _and_ expressed to you how I feel about Shane. Besides, what do you know about Maxwell?" Mercedes scoffed.

"More than you know," Sam answered before leaning across the table to whisper in her ear, "You sure you were singing about your boyfriend?"

He pulled back slightly, teetering on the edge of being in her personal space.

"We only have 20 minutes until your free period is over," Mercedes said breaking eye contact with him. "How about we get back to the Calculus?"

After three sessions of tutoring Sam Evans during his free time, Mercedes was sure that he was hiding something from her. Normally that wouldn't bother her, save for that fact that she had specifically asked him not to keep any secrets from her that could possibly aide in helping his Calculus grade. He was showing improvement, but their pace was slower than what she had originally expected. Perhaps it was just nothing, but she could swear that there was a puzzle piece missing. It was almost amazing in retrospect how much she did know. Never had Mercedes ever thought she'd get the chance to learn so much about Sam Evans. She knew it bothered him slightly that she was digging deeper into him and she tried to stay open for some of his prying, but it wasn't always easy. Some questions like why she didn't want to be a teacher never bothered her. When it came to questions like "what it felt like to be singing on stage?" she immediately shut down. It wasn't a hard question to answer, but it was so damn personal. It unnerved her for someone that she would never normally talk to know the answer, when her own boyfriend didn't know, nor did he bother to ask. In all fairness, Mercedes wasn't 100% sure that she'd tell Shane either.

Mercedes had learned that Sam liked to draw. Country and a bit of classic rock were the musical genres that he stuck to, but Jeff Sterling of all people had introduced him to Maxwell during a summer music festival at Virginia Beach a few summers ago. Sam's affection toward art confirmed her suspicions that he was a visual learner. Since he liked music and seemed to genuinely enjoy her voice, maybe she could think about introducing him to a few of the songs that she had created to help her with Calculus last year. Mercedes had been in the middle of reviewing the material when her older brother Devon called about a missing school book.

After a twenty minute search, Mercedes found it wide open in her father's parlor. As Devon sighed in relief over the phone, the wheels in Mercedes' head began to turn as she briefly scanned the page on dyslexia.

"Okay 'Cedes can you overnight the book to me for a Monday morning arrival?" Dev pleaded to her over the phone. "I'll pay you back, and if you have to miss your first period, I'll call it in, okay? I just really need that book ASAP."

"I've got you Dev, don't worry," Mercedes said picking up the book and reading more in depth as she moved back into the living room, where her mother's stereo was playing. As Aretha Franklin's "Ain't No Way" started to play, Mercedes rushed her brother off of the phone to answer the doorbell. She almost blanched at the sight of the person behind the door. Damn, they really needed to have someone fix their peep hole.

"Santana, what the hell are you doing here?" Mercedes snapped, not trying to have the door open wide enough to let her in. That didn't seem to bother the young Latina, who simply pushed her way through.

"Trust me Wheezy, I'm not happy to see you either," Santana said making herself comfortable on the couch, "but your father invited my family over for dinner and Papi sent me here early to help you mother. _¡_ _Dios mío!_ Aretha Franklin? Really, Wheezy?

"Okay, you are not going to insult me and Aretha Franklin, Santana," Mercedes snapped. "There's a perfectly fine bench out on the porch where you can wait."

Santana ignored her and went for the remote and changed to the next single.

"Santana," Mercedes hissed moving for the device. Santana danced around her singing along with the track.

" _Oh I lose control, can't seem to get enough,"_ Santana sang. Mercedes frowned watching her lauder around her living room. It would be better if she couldn't sing, but it irked Mercedes slightly that Santana could hold more than just a tune. When Mercedes turned down the music Santana paused raising an eyebrow.

"What, you have a problem with Whitney?" Santana frowned.

"Oh no, but if you think you're really that bad please don't stop just because the music does," Mercedes challenged.

_How will I know if he really loves me  
I say a prayer with every heart beat  
I fall love whenever we meet  
I'm asking you because you know about these things_

Whitney Houston's music was everything to Mercedes. The woman may not completely have her life together, but for Mercedes that had never shadowed the joy that came from her classics like "I Have Nothing" or "So Emotional". So it didn't take long for her to joining Santana in what quickly became an a cappella duet of "How Will I Know". It also turned out to be the longest conversation that the two girls had without resorting to insults and cheap shots. Mercedes supposed that the fact that the words didn't belong to either of them helped.

"Now, while I may love Whitney," Irene Jones said smiling as she entered her living room with her arms filled with groceries, "I know the neighbors don't. How are you, Santana darling?"

"I'm fine Mrs. Jones," Santana said. "Papi wanted me to come over early to see if you wanted any help with dinner."

"Sweetheart, please tell your father that I am more than capable of cooking for eight," Irene replied.

"Nine," Mercedes corrected. "Rashad left a message on the machine. He's bringing Alexis with him."

"Oh Lord," Irene groaned. "I may need back up after all. I'll call Morgan and see what she's doing tonight. She's a college student, and they _love_ free food. 'Cede baby, why don't you show Santana around?"

When Mrs. Jones was out of ear shot Santana sat lightly, "My brother is pretty shitty at picking out his girlfriends too. He swears he would only bring them home once he put a ring on it, but then he'd have the joy of Nana's wrath."

"Yeah, my mother is at her wits end with Alexis," Mercedes said. "She won't last till the end of the month."

There wasn't much to show off in the Jones home. They lived a comfortable, non-extravagant lifestyle. Mercedes showed Santana the home theater in the basement and through the second story window, pointed out to the small guest house that had a mini kitchen, living room and master suite. On the second floor were her parent's room and Rashad's old room. He used to be on the top floor with Mercedes and Dev but once puberty hit Irene Jones thought it best to move her eldest son closer to since she had no intentions of picking him up from the station in the middle of the night or becoming a grandmother before 50.

"Is this the room Hummel crashes in when he stays over?" Santana asked referring to the empty third bedroom on the third floor.

"Um no," Mercedes replied. "That was Quinn's old room."

Mercedes didn't have to tell Santana that no one had been using that room since the blonde's departure.

"You really do hate her don't you?" Santana said softly.

"I hate what she did to my family," Mercedes replied after a few moments of glaring at the door. She could still precisely see where Rashad had placed the cursive Q marker on the door when Mercedes first bought Quinn home.

"What happened?" Santana asked.

"Nothing," Mercedes said finally, "and that was the problem."

"Her loss then," Santana said trying to shake the somber mood. "You might just be alright Wheezy. Besides, no friend of Quinn Fabray is a friend of mine."

That Monday, Kurt Hummel had been floored to hear Santana call off one of her cheerleading cronies as he passed them at McKinley. She hadn't said much but the clear, "lay off Hummel" was enough to put Kurt in even higher spirits. He had already been having an exceptional morning: the family mechanic had confirmed this morning that his car would be ready after school for pickup and he was nearly done with the portfolio he planned to send to various fashion schools. In the midst of mentally debating different fabrics for the jacket of his final piece, Kurt was blindsided by Dave Karofsky who shoved him against the lockers in a thinning hallway.

"Where are you going freak?" Karofsky seethed. Rick Nelson stood at his side snickering as Kurt struggled to pull himself together.

"Just leave me alone David," Kurt said after a few deep breaths.

"How about you leave us alone and take your gay parade somewhere else, princess?" Rick taunted.

Behind them Kurt caught the eye of Azimo Atkins, as he passed by. Azimo was a good friend of Shane's. He only held eye contact for a quick second before moving forward and leaving Kurt to handle his own.

"The next time you try to talk back to me pixie stick, I'm going to make sure you get acquainted with the Fury." Karofsky slammed his fist just shy of Kurt's left ear for emphasis before walking away with Rick.

It seemed that some things would never change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Credits:   
> "Fortunate" by Maxwell  
> "How Will I Know" by Whitney Houston


	4. Sports Diplomacy

Sam Evans had a serious problem. Besides the fact that he had a mountain of college applications to finish, the scout's game looming over head thanks to his father's enthusiasm about Cornell and Coach Bieste's pestering about how important tonight was and his Calculus, Sam now had to come to terms with the fact that he was daydreaming about his tutor…again. It had first started with simple student-teacher fantasies; ones where she'd wear the plaid McKinley skirt a few inches too short and one too many buttons unbuttoned on her blouse showing her ample cleavage. The 'V' from the loose necktie she wore didn't help either. To top it off, every time she had to bend down to show him an equation, Sam was blessed by the sight of black lace. These were the types of fantasies that Sam could easily write off to just being a teenaged pervert, but after re-watching the final season of the 1960's Batman television show, all of Sam's fantasies were consumed with Mercedes dancing for him in that tight black suit that Eartha Kitt wore as Catwoman.

It was a huge problem. Not because she was his secret tutor or a family political rival, but try as he might—and admittedly he could have tried harder—Sam actually liked Mercedes. She was quick witted, funny and hardly put up with any of his bull. If they ever met, the guys would love her and if she didn't have the last name Jones his mother might even tolerate her. Getting genuinely attached to anyone wasn't in Sam's plans. He was supposed to play the part of the whipped boyfriend and get the hell out of DC. The only person he planned on keeping in regular contact with after graduation from McKinley was Puck. And as Sam passed Mercedes in the hall he was reminded of the fact that not only her last was Jones but it wouldn't stay that way if Shane Tinsley had any say in the matter.

While the school was buzzing with excitement for the rival game later that evening, Mercedes was trying to restrain herself from shaking someone within an inch of her life—that someone being Princess Rachel Barbara Berry. Rachel was the first girl that Mercedes had ever learned to genuinely hate. Rachel walked through the arts department as if she were some goddess, and with the way some of her teachers treated her, one would think that she was. Mercedes could admit that the brunette junior had a beautiful voice and the potential to do great things. However, her assertive attitude and her sense of entitlement irked Mercedes to no end. Rachel felt that she had the right to step on any and everyone on her way to the top, consequences be damned.

Mercedes knew that Rachel was furious about losing sole control of the Glee club after she'd stepped in as captain during the second semester last year and was livid about the fact that she had to be content with being second soprano to Mercedes' first in Girls _and_ Mixed Choir. Seniority was a bitch, but Mercedes had no plans of making any apologies. She worked hard for her spots and Rachel was the only one who complained about the fact that Mercedes took a play out of _her_ book to ensure that the Broadway diva would not be captain of the Glee club again. Mercedes would be damned before going through an entire year of the Berry Club and when director Bryan Ryan saw how serious Mercedes was about walking out, he initially called bluff. As a result, Mercedes didn't come to a single summer rehearsal or most of summer shows. Kurt ended up boycotting with her less than half way through the summer and soon Tina, Artie and eventually half of the club joined them. So when Bryan Ryan came to her, Mercedes decided to wring him dry. In true Jones fashion, Mercedes kindly suggested that if he wanted them back then he should make a point of not letting Rachel lead every song and take her out of the sole leadership position. In addition, if he wanted _her_ back then he would contact all his high connections at USC, NYADA and Oberlin and put in a good word for her at their music schools the same way he'd promised to do for Rachel. Ryan conceded so long as Rachel could be co-captain. They made a deal that Rachel would be second in command to Mercedes and Artie Abrams being under Rachel.

So when the petite brunette decided to strike up a conversation earlier, Mercedes figured that Rachel's intention were less than pure. During Girls' Choir, she'd casually mentioned that she had spoken to Mercedes' father and simply said that she expected Mercedes would do well in her upcoming NYADA audition. The problem being her father knew nothing of any of those auditions and Mercedes had planned on keeping it that way until she got a letter of acceptance. It was no secret that William Jones wanted his children to become litigators not R&B artists.

"I'm sure your audition slot is fine," Tina assured her as she and Mercedes walked through the halls after choir. "Rachel probably didn't even say anything to him. I'm sure she did that to shake you."

"But if she did say something T, I'm going to kill her," Mercedes swore.

"Look I have my computer literacy class next. How about I do a quick search for the NYADA telephone number? That way you can call them after school," Tina assured.

"Thank you," Mercedes said relaxing only slightly. "I better go find Kurt. I'll see you and your boyfriend at lunch!"

"Artie is not my boyfriend!" Tina exclaimed blushing as Mercedes walked away from her.

In the boys locker room Kurt Hummel was not exactly faring well. He knew trouble was coming his way when the doors that led to the filed opened up and a group of football players walked in, his favorite two among them.

"What the fuck are you doing in here Humdick?" Rick sneered as he walked in. "Didn't you see the sign: No Pansies Allowed?"

Kurt ignored him, uninterested in getting into an argument with someone whose IQ was less than that of his five year old cousin.

"What? You can't hear now, Humdick?" Karofsky snapped pushing Kurt up against the lockers. "Get the fuck out of here!"

"Hey!"

Kurt had never been happier to see Shane Tinsley and sicker as he watched his expression drop at the sight of Kurt.

"You got a problem Tinsley?" Dave asked Shane dropping Kurt for a moment.

"You better watch who you talk to like that, Karofsky," Shane replied walking past them. "You should take that shit outside. Nobody wants it in here."

"Yeah, whatever. Now where were we?" Dave said to Kurt crackling his knuckles.

"I think the Tin-man might have a good point there," Rick said. "I think it's time Humdick here got the 'Apple Turnover' special in one of our beloved dumpsters."

"Are we throwing you two in there as well?"

Sam Evans was leading the next batch of players into the locker room, Noah Puckerman at his side.

"You know, the more you pick on Hummel here, the more I think you have a crush on him," Puck said as he made his way to his locker.

"Fuck that," Karofsky spat. "I'm just trying to keep our area fag free. Nobody wants him here."

"Trust me, it's easier to disappear when you leave me the hell alone," Kurt hissed finding his voice.

"No one told you that you could talk!"

"And no one told you that you could lord around the boy's locker room as if you owned the place," Sam said cutting Karofsky off.

"Do you have a problem Evans?"

"Yes, I do and I'd _love_ for you to do something about David," Sam replied. "Hit me. I dare you to."

"Ha! He won't do that because he'll get spanked like a bitch by his father," Puck laughed.

"Don't test me," Karofsky growled. "Neither one of you are untouchable."

"Then why haven't you hit me yet?" Sam asked. "I'm waiting…"

"This is ridiculous," Shane interrupted, coming from around the corner. "Evans, Karofsky pack it up. We've got a game tonight. Kurt, you should go."

Shane caught Kurt's eye for a brief moment before he turned to glare at David.

"Do you have everything you need Kurt?" Sam asked also glaring at Karofsky.

"Do you and the fairy boy need a room Evans?" Rick snorted.

"Nelson, shut the fuck up before someone hands you your ass," Puck snapped.

"Do you have a problem Evans?" Shane snapped frowning as Sam's glare had turned from David to him.

"No I just think your display of loyalty rather interesting," Sam said to Shane as Kurt grabbed his things and made his way to the door, "though I suppose it makes sense with you being an ass and all."

"Excuse me?" Shane snapped.

"Ass as in donkey as in _Democrat_ ," Sam explained cheekily.

Kurt wanted to say something, but his priority was getting out of there before things got any worse. He made it just past the entrance to the Boy's Locker room when he ran into Mercedes.

"There you are," she said greeting him with a smile. "Are you okay? You look a little queasy."

"I'm fine," Kurt replied looping his arm with hers. "Nothing a quick cleanser and the latest copy of Cosmopolitan can't fix."

On their way to the bathroom, Kurt and Mercedes passed Quinn Fabray on a ladder adjusting one of the spirit posters hanging from the wall. In true Quinn Fabray fashion, she ignored them but the person she couldn't ignore came around the corner as well. Kurt and Mercedes were never Rachel Berry fans and neither wanted to stick around to eavesdrop on that conversation.

"We need to talk," Rachel demanded. "I know."

Quinn held back a sigh and slowly stepped down from her ladder to face the girl. Though Quinn would never admit it, she respected Rachel Berry. In a lot of ways they were similar. Even though Rachel's tyranny was restricted to the arts department, they both came together in their mutual dislike for Mercedes Jones.

"'I know' is a rather generic statement Rachel," Quinn said, "how about being a little more specific?"

"You know what I'm talking about Quinn. I can feel you staring at Finn and me all of the time," Rachel hissed. "I know what you want."

Quinn's face barely paled but her she tightened her grip on the ladder.

"You know nothing," Quinn said slowly.

"How could I not notice the way you stare at us?" Rachel fumed, "At him! It's more than obvious how badly you want Finn's attention now that you're back at the top of the social ladder, but think about this: I never even thought about standing in your way back in August especially when I was more than capable—"

"I'm going to stop you before you embarrass yourself," Quinn said putting on her sweetest smile. "I'm not interested in Finn. I couldn't be happier with Sam. Finnegan is all yours, no hard feelings."

Rachel frowned, not buying Quinn's side of the story.

"If it makes you feel better," Quinn continued, "we could always double. That way you can see for yourself how completely uninterested I am in Finn and the boys can start working on getting along. After all, if we're going to be leaders of the next generation of great politicians then we have to get those two on the same page."

"I agree," Rachel replied. "Perhaps we can talk after the game?"

"Sounds like a plan."

When Rachel turned back around the corner, Quinn went back to her poster only to be interrupted by one of her fellow cheerleaders.

"You know Rachel Berry may have believed that load of bullshit, but I sure as hell didn't," Santana Lopez said as she approached Quinn. Quinn reset her face to a scowl. Santana had been unbearable since her return. Someone had apparently gotten too comfortable at the top last year.

"I thought I left you in charge of the spirit sale in the café," Quinn snapped.

"And I thought you were straight!" Santana replied.

"Excuse me?" Quinn hissed.

"Rachel's not the only one who's noticed your staring," Santana said. "Trust me; I know it wasn't Finn's ass that you were staring at last week. Admit it Fabray, you want that Berry girl to run her hands all over you."

"That has got to be the most ridiculous thing that I've heard all day," Quinn said flatly, "though since it's coming from you I suppose that makes a little bit more sense. Get your shit together Santana and stop searching for things that aren't there. And the next time you want to talk about me being a lesbian, how about we talk about why you're looking so deep into the situation. Perhaps you're the one who wants Rachel Berry."

"I've been a judgmental bitch since the day I was born Fabray, and let me tell you I've got the best gaydar in this school," Santana said. "I'll catch you eventually."

"Not a chance in hell," Quinn muttered under her breath.

By the time night fell in Washington, DC even those who were used to floor length ball gowns that were practically sewn into their skin were all decked out in red and white McKinley gear. There were even a few Dalton students among the crowd on the Titans' side. Jeff Sterling and his band of brothers were among them, though Mercedes figured that they were here more for Sam than anything else. Mercedes sat in the company of her parents, Shane's parents, Kurt and his father, wrapped in a large quilt to stay warm in the chilly weather.

"Now Burt, remember," Sharon Tinsley said as they waited for the game to begin, "when you're done with being single you just call me. I have the perfect woman lined up for you."

"Sharon, are you offering yourself?" Burt Hummel teased.

"None of that will be necessary Sharon, as Burt and I are currently in the middle of a highly illicit affair," Irene Jones cut in as Kurt and Mercedes laughed. Sharon Tinsley and Irene Jones had been "sharing" Burt Hummel for years now. Kurt's father was said to be one of the most productive congressmen in the House. He was never afraid to cross the aisle to ensure that a piece of legislature was passed and he was on good terms with several House Republicans. And yet in the 10 years since his wife's death, Burt had yet to have a date.

"I'm serious!" Sharon pressed.

"I don't know, I'm pretty happy with this affair," Burt teased as William shook his head.

"I bet he'll be singing a different tune the next time he comes to my office about the House's Tax Bill," William huffed.

"Oh no no no," Irene interrupted. "We are not talking about politics tonight. Only football."

"Ever heard of sports diplomacy?" William replied.

"Sure I have," his wife answered. "Have you ever heard of the _couch_ play? Wives all across the country are very fond of it. It usually happens on the fourth down. You should ask your buddy Bill about that, I'm sure he's _very_ familiar with it."

"From one married man to another," Simon Tinsley said to William, "once she starts pulling out the Bill Clinton card, it's time to retreat."

"And that kids, is Sports Diplomacy," Burt whispered to Kurt and Mercedes. Cheers erupted around them as the crowd welcomed the Titans on to the field, effectively covering up their laughter.

The first two quarters went smoothly for the Titans. They secured the lead early on and held onto it for most of the first half. Neither Kurt nor Mercedes were football ignorant, though it wasn't their favorite form of entertainment, mostly because they'd been coming to McKinley football games since Rashad's days on the team. Mercedes for the most part stayed attentive while Kurt spent most of the game doodling in the sketch book he'd brought.

"With the way you write in that thing, you'd better be getting a full ride to FIDM," Irene Jones commented during the third quarter.

"I hope so!" Kurt replied. He had to holler as Burt Hummel in that moment felt the need to stand and holler, "What the hell was that, ref?"

By the 4th quarter Kurt was joining his father in his protests. The Titans were down by 13 and Finn Hudson had just gone down.

"Well guess who's not getting a scholarship to Cornell," Kurt said frankly.

"Son," Burt chided.

"Oh no, he's right," Mercedes said. "The only good thing Finn ever had going for him was football. I was praying to God that'd get into a big football school and stay the hell away from politics."

"Enough of the P word," Irene cut in. "Who's the second string quarter back?"

"I think it is Sam," Mercedes said watching the boys huddle and sure enough, Sam had dropped back into the quarterback slot.

"Alright Evans," William Jones said standing up, "please do one better than you father and actually pull out a win."

It didn't come easy. Sam fumbled twice in the quarter, but thanks to a fourth down Hail Mary and a tough conversion in the red zone, the McKinley Titans were able to come out on top.

There was a mass of student and families waiting near the player's exit for the team to re-emerge after the game. Mercedes and Kurt strayed a bit from their parents as they waited, uninterested in being caught up with any of their father's colleagues. Both were slightly shocked when a blonde haired boy called them out by name.

"Mercedes, Kurt," Jeff Sterling greeted. "Long time no see. You two enjoy the game?"

"Yes, Jeff," Kurt said. "Tell Sam we said 'good game'."

"Tell him yourself," Jeff said lightly. "I'll never understand that whole apartheid thing you all have going on there at McKinley."

"Are you really comparing our high school drama to that of the racial tyranny that was in South Africa?" Mercedes deadpanned.

"Someone can't take a joke, I see," Jeff smiled. "But I'll concede that it was a poor metaphor. I must say though Ms. Jones, you sure are looking lovely. It's a real shame about you and that boyfriend."

"Is this the part where I'm supposed to tell that it's only it's only a problem if you think it is?" Mercedes asked and Kurt fought a smile.

"No, this is the part where both of your panties drop," Jeff said to both of them grinning.

"Well damn," Kurt said, "this is disappointing."

"Just wait for it," Jeff continued. "Sometimes you need a little smile, perhaps a ride in the convertible."

The three of them fell into an easy laugh. Jeff Sterling's reputation was something that neither Kurt nor Mercedes was ignorant of, but neither minded Jeff's harmless flirting.

"Ms. Jones, please let me know when you're done playing with little boys," Jeff teased. "I promise blondes do have more fun."

"I promise Jeffery, there is nothing little about Shane," Mercedes said coyly.

She didn't know this for sure, but there was no reason why Jeff had to know that, especially if he was potentially taking back information for another blonde friend of his…

"Is everything okay here, baby? Kurt?"

The three of them turned to see Shane who sported a deep scowl, still drenched in his uniform.

"Shane Tinsley," Jeff greeted, winking playfully at Mercedes. "Good game man."

"Yeah, thanks Sterling. Your boy Evans just walked out."

"That he did," Jeff smiled, "if you all would excuse me."

"What the hell was that about?" Shane asked when Jeff left.

"Nothing," Kurt answered. "Jeff is a known flirt—"

"He was flirting with you?" Shane grumbled.

"Yes, but like Kurt said, everybody knows that Jeff likes to flirt," Mercedes shrugged. "It meant noth—Shane! Shane, where the hell are you going?"

Mercedes had forgotten how quickly her boyfriend could move. He had almost reached Jeff and his friends when Shane snapped, "Sterling!"

Sam placed a protective hand on Jeff's shoulder who wore his classic 'no fucks given' smirk.

"What do you want Shane?" Sam asked calmly.

"Lay off my girl," Shane said to Jeff.

"I told her she looked pretty, which obviously you don't do enough or else you wouldn't be stalking over here like a mad man. It's not like fucked her," Jeff said plainly. "And since when has Mercedes Jones been your property?"

"I'm not anyone's property," Mercedes snapped, stepping in between them. To Shane she hissed, "What the hell are you doing?"

"If he was leering, he should step off," Shane said still glaring at Jeff and Sam.

"He wasn't leering," Kurt said coming to Mercedes' side. Their parents weren't that far off and they were gaining too much attention.

"Mercedes why don't you and your two boyfriends here pack it up," Quinn Fabray said making room for herself and Sam's side.

"Quinn, I suggest that you shut up before I serve you your ass," Mercedes warned.

"Can I please watch?" Jeff laughed.

"Shut up Jeff," Sam snapped. "Go home Shane. No one is going to apologize for a damn compliment."

"Well I'm glad that part's settled."

The group parted to see Irene Jones approaching them. She looked neither pleased nor upset, but Mercedes knew that she was set to kill.

"Now, you all have exactly five seconds before I make you all wish you were never born," Irene Jones said simply. "Just ask Mercedes, Kurt and Quinn."

She shot the blonde cheerleader a sweet smile, while Quinn openly glowered back at her and tightened her grip on Sam's arm.

"5, 4,…"

"Good night, everyone," Blaine Anderson said stiffly dragging Jeff away. The other three Dalton boys followed and Mercedes watched as Quinn and Sam walked away hand in hand.

It took everything in Sam not to turn around for one final look.

After a long shower and a fresh set of clothes, Sam embarked for Jeff's after party. There was a healthy mixture of Dalton, McKinley and Leighmeister students in the extravagant hotel suite. It was an easy crowd to get lost in, which was good for Sam who wasn't interested in being stuck with his girlfriend all night long and lucky enough not to have drawn the shortest straw. Drawing straws was a tradition that Jeff, David, Nick, Wes, Blaine and Sam had found necessary a year and a half ago. Each of the boys would pull a straw and the shortest would be on designated driver duty or policing duty, making sure the party didn't catch any unwanted attention and the second shortest was limited to 2 drinks tops as to help with round-up duty. They only ever had five straws to draw as alcohol seemed to be attracted to Jeff and as the host of the party there was no way he wasn't going to drink.

"Alright everybody pull!" Jeff ordered holding the cup in the middle of their semi-circle. Nick had the joy of pulling the second shortest straw, which was a problem as Nick held his liquor about as well as a toddler would and Blaine pulled the shortest. Blaine was fine with pulling the shortest straw, though he probably could have used a good drink. As much as he enjoyed a good football game, Blaine couldn't throw himself into the celebrations. After about an hour, he found himself tiring of watching his classmates down the alcohol supply and slipped out for some fresh air. He took the elevator down to the lobby. There was a cigarette in his back pocket, though he wasn't completely sold on going out for a smoke. In the back of his mind he knew they were a slippery slope to addiction and Blaine had enough issues. He knew his friends were worried about him, as he hadn't spoken to anyone about his parents since his brief word with Sam on the plateau three weeks ago.

Blaine just stepped off the elevator when he noticed his father step on the elevator next to him. Levi Anderson hadn't noticed his son because he was too wrapped up on his phone call to see Blaine turn white with rage. Levi was supposed to be in on a plane headed for Prague for business, or at least that's what his father instructed the head maid to inform Blaine before the football game.

Once his father's elevator doors closed, Blaine calmly made his way to the concierge's desk and asked to speak with the manager. Twenty minutes later Blaine re-emerged with the room number for his father's suite. Blaine was being the doting son by picking up some paperwork for his father before he departed for Prague. The manager had been more than happy to help, probably hoping to keep the Anderson's business.

In the end all Blaine had really needed was the floor number. It had only taken a few steps off of the elevator to determine which room was his father's. His name was being chanted passionately at the top of another female's lungs. Blaine knocked harshly on the door until it opened, ready to confront his father. When the door did open, it was not the face of Levi Anderson that he was met with, but that of his mistress.

"Oh my god, Blaine," she said softly, guilt coloring her voice.

Blaine stood at the door, desperately trying to wipe away the image of the woman before him.

"Blaine honey, I promise I-I can explain," she said weakly.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Blaine replied.

Blaine Anderson wasn't the only one having a long night. Since they'd left the stadium, Shane had to deal with his girlfriend's chilling silence. Their families, per tradition, gathered at his house to celebrate the win. Well, at least their parents were celebrating. Ever since Kurt and Burt Hummel left, Shane had been struggling to figure out a way to approach his peeved girlfriend. This was supposed to be a good night, the best night in fact. But now, he was alone on the porch steps leading to his backyard.

"You're not cold?"

Shane turned to see Mercedes standing in the doorway with a quilt wrapped around her.

"No I'm good," Shane replied making room for her on the steps.

"Do you remember our first date?" Mercedes asked softly moving to sit beside him. "We promised each other that we would be honest with one another."

"Because we're friends first and foremost, I remember," Shane said.

"Good, so when I ask, 'what the hell were you thinking?' don't bullshit me like you did your mother on the ride over here," Mercedes continued. "I want the truth."

Shane flinched slightly remembering the way his mother cut into him on the car ride over. She wasn't nearly as terrifying as the glare and low tones that Mrs. Jones had used when Evans and his friends left, but the ride home hadn't been pleasant either. Sharon Tinsley hated being embarrassed, especially in front of company so when she demanded to know what he'd been thinking, Shane came up with the first answer he could think of.

" _It was nothing, ma. Just had a little bit of extra aggression, especially after Evans' stunt in the locker room."_

" _What stunt?" Sharon Tinsley had snapped back._

Shane hadn't missed the way Kurt had stilled and in all honesty, he hadn't meant to bring that situation up, not even inadvertently. Shane liked Kurt, though e wasn't a fan of his lifestyle. But Kurt Hummel was Mercedes' best friend and for her he would do just about anything. Mercedes Jones was the perfect girl for him; Shane knew this. Every time he thought of the future, he saw her with their children, laughing and smiling. He could see them taking up their place among some of the most prominent Democratic families in D.C. He could see the two of them growing old together, watching their grandchildren run around in their backyard while their parents went on to continue the legacy that he and Mercedes would set before them. They could be perfect together. His natural protective nature would always protect her big heart from any harm that might come their way. Though, if all of this were to come to pass, he would have to have all of his affairs in line now. No one was going to give him anything. Tonight had proven that.

"You know, I don't think anyone hates Sam Evans more than I do," Shane began. "Everyone treats him as if he's untouchable, like he's the chosen one, all because of who Richard Evans is. He's just a petty little white boy who's upset that his Daddy likes to push him. He doesn't even want the Cornell scholarship. Everybody knows his endgame is with baseball and _still_ Coach Bieste practically hands it to him."

"She doesn't have the power to do that," Mercedes reminded softly.

"You weren't in the locker room listening to her sing his praises after the game. You would have thought that the sun came out of his ass. Sam Evans can do this and that, he moves well in the pocket. Don't get me wrong; I'm glad he could step up and takeover for Hudson, but baby I could only take so much. Guys like me and, as much as I hate to admit it, Karofsky work hard to be where we are and we both had to sit there and watch it go down the drain because Hudson couldn't do his damn job. I'm just sick of everybody wanting to ride Evans' dick."

"I get that feeling Shane," Mercedes said. "I have the pleasure of Rachel Berry constantly breathing down my back, remember? But Jeff Sterling isn't Sam."

"I know, but when people see Azimo they see me. When they see Kurt, they see you and when people see Sam's boys from Dalton they see Sam. Things are probably different for Anderson because of his father's clout, but I gotta admit, when I saw Jeff pushing up on you, all I could see was this extension of Sam Evans trying to get to you, the one person I can trust not to fall into his traps."

Shane's openness left Mercedes with a slightly uneasy feeling. For two people who had dating for several months now, they should be open with each other and while she was glad that Shane wasn't lying to her, the fact that she hadn't been completely honest with him created a pit in the bottom of her stomach. If Shane was going to start a mini rage over Jeff Sterling innocently flirting with her, could she trust him and tell him about August and the tutoring sessions? Even if she knew that she wasn't in love with him, Mercedes didn't want to hurt Shane and it was bad enough that she could hear the slight doubt in his last words, especially when there shouldn't be. Sam Evans shouldn't mean anything to her…and he didn't. He couldn't.

"Shane," Mercedes said softly after a few moments, "you know me. Sam Evans may not be my favorite person, but I can make my own judgments about people without you feeling like you have to protect me. Whatever animosity you have towards Sam is your own, and I won't stand to be used as a ploy for some alpha male game between the two of you."

"I know baby, and I'm sorry about tonight," Shane apologized. "I promise it won't happen again."

"That's all I ask," Mercedes said putting her head on her boyfriend's shoulder. "And for what it's worth, I think you played really well out there. I don't want to see you give up because of one night."

"Thank you baby," Shane replied, wrapping an arm around her.

They sat in silence for a few more moment before Shane said, "I know you may not be ready to say it, but I love you Mercedes Jones and I can't wait to see what the future has in store for us."

The pit in the bottom of her stomach grew, but Mercedes ignored it, snuggling into his right side and replying, "Me too."

The next morning Sam Evans took his time getting up from one of the hotel beds. He had an evening study session with Mercedes at 6:30 at the MLK Library, but before that he agreed to help Jeff clean up the trashed hotel suite that they'd partied in the night before.

Jeff was furious with Blaine for bailing out of the party halfway through the night. He'd been forced to sober up early to keep things from getting too out of control. Nick kept Jeff in line for most of the morning and when they finished, Sam checked in at his house. Both of his parents had thankfully stepped out for one of his father's events, before heading out to hunt down the Blaine.

By the time he met Mercedes at the library, Sam was exhausted and he knew it showed.

"Work hard, play hard right?" Mercedes guessed dryly as Sam took a seat. "Still recovering from the night before?"

"No," Sam groaned. "I've been chasing a ghost all afternoon."

"A ghost?"

"Blaine," Sam explained. "He bailed on us last night so I was trying to track him down."

"Wait, is he missing? Do you think he's okay?" Mercedes asked.

"He's not missing, exactly. He called me earlier to say that he was fine and he didn't want to be bothered," Sam shrugged pulling out his books.

"And you still went looking?"

"Isn't that what good friends do? We poke and prod those we care about; especially when we know that they need it. I've known Blaine since pre-school. I know when to stop looking. Look, about that whole Jeff thing last night—"

"Forget it," Mercedes said. "I should be apologizing on Shane's behalf. Honestly I think it would be best that we just put that behind us."

"Yeah, we weren't exactly on the best of terms before the game and I know with how Bieste handled the scout afterwards left everyone in a sour mood," Sam said. "For what it's worth, I hope he gets the scholarship. I know he's worked hard for it."

Mercedes tried not to hold Sam's gaze for too long. His words always seemed so damn honest, especially when she was ready to write him off. Why couldn't he be more like Finn Hudson or Rachel Berry, so she could hate him freely?

"I'm sure Shane would appreciate that," Mercedes said softly.

"He probably wouldn't believe me," Sam shrugged.

"Would you believe him?" Mercedes asked.

"No," Sam answered honestly. "I guess we can blame that on party lines or the fact that half those guys in the locker room think that I'm a spoiled brat because I'm not interested in falling in line like everybody else. I don't want to go to Cornell and play college football and major in pre-law, so that makes me an idiot. I know I don't want to go into politics, so that makes me a pretentious asshole."

"But you do use your father's power for your own benefit," Mercedes argued.

"What about you? Or Kurt? Or every other goddamn cop that goes to McKinley. We all have to play the 'my dad's got a bigger stick than yours' because that's the only type of respect that you can get at McKinley. The more powerful your parents are, the more chances that assholes like Karofsky will leave you alone," Sam said plainly. "And contrary to popular belief, I've been on the uglier side of bullying. The one that gets you landed in a set of dumpsters. It's not fun, and I won't apologize for using what I can to keep myself out of there and I sure as hell won't apologize for wanting to separate myself from the status quo."

"I respect that," Mercedes said. "I'm not exactly interested in becoming a politician's wife either."

"And you shouldn't," Sam said. "You've got a beautiful voice. It'd be shame if you didn't get the chance to share that with the world. And who knows, maybe I'll even let bygones be bygones for a few hours to see you in concert."

Mercedes couldn't help but smile. "Well don't let the Senate Committee of Health, Education, Labor and Pensions catch you saying that; especially not while your father heads that board. They'll think you've caught some atrocious and potentially infectious disease and they'd have to report you to the CDC and the RNC just to be on the safe side. You'd be all over C-SPAN and of course all the major networks. Fox News on behalf of the Republican party would call it a great tragedy, CNN would probably be puking rainbows."

Sam's rich laughter quickly filled their small corner of the world. "I hope to God I'm never on C-SPAN," he said between chuckles, "or CNN. I don't know which one would be worse…"

"It's okay, you can say CNN," Mercedes smiled. "We both know you were thinking it."

"I mean can you blame me? Wolf Blitzer is kind of creepy," Sam teased.

"Oh two words Mr. Evans," Mercedes replied. "Bill O'Reily."

"You sure you want to open that can of worms, Ms. Jones?" Sam grinned mischievously.

"Ok, another time," Mercedes ceded. "I do have to ask you one thing."

"Shoot," Sam said.

"While I didn't mind Jeff's compliments," Mercedes began, "it did all seem a bit suspicious. Did you tell him—"

"About this? August?" Sam asked. "Neither. I love that kid to death but he has eidetic memory. He doesn't forget a damn thing and this isn't something that I want him to know about just yet."

"You don't trust Jeff?"

"I actually I trust him more than most, but I don't know, I sort of thought that this was our little secret," Sam shrugged avoiding her gaze.

Mercedes almost responded to the hidden question laced in that answer but she thought better of it. Eventually she and Sam would have to have a conversation about his flirtatious manner or whatever the hell was brewing between them. If they set ground rules now, it would make their time together easier. That way in the end, each side could go back to business as usual. The poor guy did look tired so she decided that conversation could always wait for another day.

About thirty minutes into their study session, Mercedes' phone went off. She rushed to silence it, but seeing that it was Kurt calling she decided to quickly answer the phone.

"Hey Kurt can I call—wait, then who is this?—where is he?"

Sam watched with budding terror as Mercedes was racked with sobs.

"Okay, okay. I'm coming right now," she promised before ending the call.

She threw her phone into her bag and gathered her things before shouting, "Fuck!"

"What is going on Mercedes?" Sam demanded.

"It's Kurt—oh god. He's hurt and Rashad has my fucking car and he won't be back until another hour and—"

"Call your brother and tell him that Kurt picked you up from the library and you're going to spend the night with him," Sam instructed as he gathered his belongings. "I have my car. It'll take you to wherever Kurt is."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things for Sam and Mercedes-and really all of the characters-will start getting more complicated from here on out. In case anyone was curious/confused, Will Schuester isn't the Glee club director because eventually Sam ends up working for a law firm called Schuester and Sons, as mentioned in Crossing the Aisle. Therefore Bryan Ryan will serve as the Glee club director for this verse. Also, if you see any of the characters using the shorthand "cop" that means child(ren) of a politican. That shorthand isn't dependent on which side they come from. Because We Said So is due for an update before I get back to this verse, but all of that will happen after I spend the entire weekend celebrating my birthday-honestly everyone should celebrate their birthday for whole damn week, but working full time tends to axe that plan ;) As always I have to give a shout out to my lovely beta Jill.
> 
> References:
> 
> RNC: Republican National Committee
> 
> CDC: Center for Disease Control
> 
> C-SPAN: the American cable network that offers coverage of federal government proceedings
> 
> Sports Diplomacy: Burt Hummel gave a pretty poor description for the sake of a joke but Sports Diplomacy is the use of sport as a means to influence diplomatic, social, and political relations. The most popular example being the Olympics.


	5. Back Room Deals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I have to give a special shout of to my lovely beta Jill!

At the end of the day, Kurt Hummel would hold fast that the entire fault lay at the hands of 7/11, who earlier in the day decided to advertise a new flavor in its line of Slurpees. Kurt Hummel wasn’t a fan of most unhealthy, brain freezing drinks, but he could never turn down an ice cold Slurpee. After all, everyone in this town had at least _one_ dirty little secret. Kurt had spent his Saturday night checking out a new gallery in DC by himself since his father had flown back to their district in Ohio earlier this morning and Mercedes was stuck tutoring for the night. He’d just gotten off of the phone with the cab company when he decided that he’d have just enough time to skirt the two blocks to the beat up store and grab the drink without missing his ride home. The plan did not include an untimely run in with Karofsky and his friends. Kurt had stopped dead when he saw the bright red McKinley letterman jackets as he made his way to the cashier. He tried making his purchase as quickly and subtly as possible, but for everything that Rick Nelson lacked in intelligence, he made up for in visual perceptiveness.

“Hey boys, look who it is,” Rick said with a sinister grin as he walked up to stand beside Kurt as he made his purchase. Kurt did his best to ignore them but, it was hard to stay calm when every time he went to pay, Rick Nelson would knock the money out of his hands.

“Just leave me alone,” Kurt said hotly once he was able to finally pay for his purchase. That had only been the case because the small cashier had weakly intervened with his broken English.

“Aww, the princess is scared,” Rick taunted as the group of the jocks that crowded him laughed. “Everyone make way for Princess Hummel!”

Kurt received a few good shoves as the jocks pushed him out of the store.

“Get away from me,” Kurt snapped, pulling out the pepper spray that he kept handy in his satchel.

“Oh I’m so scared!” one of the jocks laughed.

Fed up with their treatment of them, Kurt sprayed the three boys, including Rick, who was directly in the line of fire.  Unfortunately, he was blindsided him from the sucker punch that came to his left side.  Kurt was able to break his fall but he was dragged by Rick and his friends away from the light of the store. When they dropped him to the ground again, Kurt could see the face of David Karofsky and Finn Hudson towering over him.

“Don’t take too long,” Finn said as Kurt groaned trying to get up. “I want to get out of here before the game ends.”

By the time Kurt had gathered the strength to sit up he was kicked back down. Then the first kick landed on his right side.

Then another.

And another.

His body naturally curled trying to shield itself from the pain, but Kurt was sure that he was on the edge of breaking despite his best efforts not to shed any tears. He was completely defenseless to the pain shooting up his sides. He’d lost the pepper spray as they’d dragged him over and all of his other defensive shields, like his rape whistle lay in the satchel which was beyond his reach.

Kurt wasn’t sure when it had stopped, but when Karofsky and his gang did leave, he quickly found it difficult to breathe, only managing short shallow breaths.  Every time he tried to move he was burdened with excruciating pain on his right side.  It was dark and he was sitting alone on the concrete.  Kurt fought to pull himself together. He was better than this, better than them and if he could only just get to his cell phone…

“You alright?”

In the dimness of the night Kurt could see the small form of the cashier from the 7/11 holding his satchel and pepper spray.

“My phone,” Kurt croaked.

“I call ambulance,” the man said.

Kurt shook his head as furiously as he could manage, unwilling to speak again thanks to the pain. If the ambulance was called there’d be police reports, and his father would get involved.   Kurt wasn’t interested in sparking a scandal no matter how much he hated Karofsky. He was already outnumbered in witnesses, even if Karofsky and his friends didn’t end up paying off the 7/11 cashier later. Besides, his offenders hadn’t been completely inept—they had dragged him off from the property where there were no security cameras in sight.




“I call last caller,” the shop owner said.

Kurt couldn’t even remember his last caller until he heard the muffled cries of Mercedes Jones on the other end. By the time she arrived, the old cashier had created a mountain of ice on Kurt’s right side.  Kurt’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets when he saw the company that Mercedes was keeping.

“Ambulance,” the cashier said to Mercedes as Sam instantly went to Kurt’s side and gently prodded at the bruised area.  Sam probed as gently as he possibly could.  Unfortunately, the pain was intense for Kurt.

“Do you think his ribs are broken?” Mercedes asked.

“Not sure,” Sam answered, “but I know of someone who can be.”

“We need to get Kurt to a hospital,” Mercedes said as Sam looped one of Kurt’s arms over his shoulder.

“No hospitals,” Kurt hissed through the pain.

“I’m not taking you to a hospital Kurt,” Sam said. “Put your body weight on me. Mercedes, I need you to grab his other arm.”

“What do you mean you’re not taking him to a hospital?” Mercedes snapped unmoving.

“The closest hospital to here is Providence,” Sam said, “which on a Tuesday night has just under a two hour waiting list. Do you want to try his luck on a Saturday night at 9 pm?”

She continued to glare at him which prompted Sam to ask, “Mercedes, do you trust me?”

“Hell to the no,” she replied.

“Then for Kurt’s sake, can you at least try?” Sam pleaded.

Mercedes wasn’t shy about expressing her anger, but Kurt sighed in relief when she looped his other arm over her shoulders and led Kurt to Sam’s brand new Cadillac Escalade. If there wasn’t so much pain rushing through his body, Kurt might have commented on how the beige sedan was a rip off of his own baby, a black Lincoln Navigator, but that of course would come after he drilled Mercedes about why she was with Sam Evans in the first place. Kurt hoped that wherever they were going had a healthy supply of pain meds as Kurt wanted to be completely alert when he got all of his answers.

The drive from the 7/11 was mostly quiet, though Sam could still feel Mercedes glaring at him from the backseat. He did his best to drive quickly, if only to temporarily escape from her glare. When he approached the gates that led to their destination, Sam pressed seven on the key pad and spoke calmly into the intercom, “You have exactly five seconds to either open these gates or change the damn code back to Nicholas’ birthday.”

“Sam, where in the hell are we?” Mercedes snapped.

Sam didn’t reply, but relaxed slightly as the guest gates opened. It was nice to know that he at least guessed correctly. He sped through the dark curved street, passing the homes of several DC’s billionaires before reaching a modest wooden lake house. The porch light was on but Sam didn’t see anyone until Blaine’s voice shot out in the darkness.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Blaine’s cold eyes were locked on Mercedes who was trying to help Kurt get out of the car.

“My house isn’t a hospital Sam,” Blaine snapped.

“Duly noted,” Sam replied. “Now how about you help Hummel inside or would you prefer that I call the ambulance from here?”

Sam didn’t miss the dark mutter of “asshole”, but let it slide as he and Blaine shared Kurt’s weight and led him inside. The couch wasn’t very far from the front door and once they got Kurt stretched out Blaine tossed Sam his cell phone.  Sam quickly stepped out, while Blaine unceremoniously pushed Kurt’s shirt up to his neck to take a look at the bruises marring his stomach. The angry red and purple marks that stretched across Kurt’s pale midsection sent a wave of queasiness through Mercedes. How many times had this happened? Who had been doing this and why hadn’t Kurt said anything? How could she have not noticed?

“Mercedes,” Kurt called out to her, trying to make his voice sound stronger than what it was. “I’m fi—”

“If you say ‘fine’, I’ll kill you myself,” Mercedes croaked.

“The doctor is on his way,” Sam announced stepping back into the room.

“What doctor?” Mercedes asked.

“Dr. Caine,” Blaine answered as he lightly traced Kurt’s wounds. Kurt was slightly taken aback by the gentleness of Blaine’s touch. Every time he’d seen the brooding teenager, he was almost always frowning and his welcome earlier had been less than pleasant.

“What happened to you?” Blaine asked. The softness in his voice was a stark contradiction to the piercing stare that Blaine sent Kurt’s way. Is this how the Andersons managed to always get their way? A soothing voice and touch matched with a hypnotizing glare?

Kurt opened his mouth to speak, only wanting to brush the entire event under the rug.  After all, neither Sam nor Blaine was friends with him and they certainly didn’t need to know of any of his personal struggles. Blaine however, who seemed to be an expert in mind reading, cut over before Kurt could answer and said, “If you lie to me Hummel, I’ll cause you more pain than a set of bruised ribs.”

“Why do you care if he tells the truth or not?” Mercedes snapped.

“Because I hate liars,” Blaine said simply. “And you’re in my house, my rules. Besides Jones, are you really trying to tell me that you don’t want the truth?”

“If Kurt’s not comfortable telling you, then he shouldn’t have to,” Mercedes replied glaring at Blaine.

“Well what Kurt wants doesn’t really matter since I’m the one who pays the doctor in the end and if you want him to have medical treatment now, he’s going to talk _now_ ,” Blaine replied sending Mercedes a seething glare in reply.

“I was jumped,” Kurt explained, trying to put the brewing fire out between Blaine and Mercedes. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Mercedes repeated.

“Who?” Blaine asked.

“It was Karofsky wasn’t it?”Sam cut in. “Him and Rick decided to hunt you down.”

“We ran into each other,” Kurt corrected.

“It looks like you ran into his fist,” Blaine said flatly rising to his feet.

“His foot actually,” Kurt mumbled as Blaine went to answer the ringing doorbell.

“I thought I paid you enough to be here within 3 minutes of any call from my cell?” Blaine frowned letting in a tall blonde haired man who continued to smile despite Blaine’s demeanor.

“2 minutes and 58 seconds Mr. Anderson,” the doctor replied. “And when I suggested that you and Mr. Evans find some new friends, I was hoping that they wouldn’t be added to my unofficial list of patients. How are Jeffery and Nicholas? No broken bones or ingestion of toxic chemicals I assume.”

“Not this weekend,” Blaine replied, “though Sam’s new friend here has a nasty case of bruised ribs.”

“Is that what Dr. Anderson thinks?” Dr. Caine teased as he began to examine Kurt. “It’s truly is a shame that your parents wouldn’t let you apply for med school, Mr. Anderson. You are correct, bruised not broken.”

“That’s a good thing right?” Mercedes asked the doctor.

“He’s still going to be in a good amount of pain for the next week or so, but the recovery will be faster.”

“I need another favor,” Sam said to Blaine.

“I think you’re running a bit low on your favors,” Blaine frowned.

“Not after last night,” Sam threw back. “Kurt, is this the first time you’ve been beaten this bad?”

“It used to happen freshman year,” Mercedes answered softly, trying to hold her composure. “Karofsky would do stupid shit like try to toss Kurt into the dumpsters when no one was around. He hit him once before Christmas and I cornered him about it and I thought…damn it Kurt, I thought this had stopped!”

“It did,” Kurt answered, “but nothing ever holds Karofsky off for long and I didn’t want you to worry about it. For the longest time it was just shoving me against the lockers and insults. I was handling it.”

“Handling it? You look worse than a kicked puppy,” Blaine said frankly. “You’re not handling anything Hummel.”

“In less than seven months none of this will matter,” Kurt sighed, though it sounded like he was still trying to convince himself of that truth.

“Or Blaine here can make the next seven months a hell of a lot easier,” Sam said.

“Is that so Mr. Evans” Blaine scoffed. “How exactly am I going to pull that off?”

“You know how.”

Blaine starred at his friend in genuine confusion for a few brief seconds before realization dawned upon him and the glare returned.

“Hell no,” Blaine snapped.

“What is he talking about?” Kurt asked.

“Transferring you to Dalton Academy,” Dr. Caine supplied.

“What?”

“Unless you’re providing medical expertise I would prefer if you stayed out of this conversation doctor,” Blaine snapped still glaring at Sam. “And _you_ , outside. Now.”

When the doors closed behind Sam and Blaine, the younger billionaire let loose.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Blaine snapped.

“We don’t know why Karofsky stopped with just his ribs but if he can get away with this then he’ll start thinking that he can get away with anything,” Sam argued. “I know Karofsky. He keeps pushing until the walls collapse even if there’s a damn door that he can just walk through!”

“You know how you stop that kind of behavior Sam,” Blaine snarled, “you call the cops!”

“You know why I didn’t call the cops,” Sam replied. “If any reporter picked up on Dave simply shoving Kurt it would snowball into a story about David punching him into an inch of his life and spark a wonderful debate that’ll attack all of the families connected to the Karofsky’s including mine _and_ yours.”

“Quit acting as if you give a shit about party politics,” Blaine sneered. “Why did you bring them here Sam? If you’re going to ask for favors you better be damn honest with me.”

“It wasn’t long ago that we were on the receiving end of one of Karofsky’s punches,” Sam reminded.

“For the love of God Sam, just spit it out already!” Blaine growled.

Sam didn’t say anything in return, not that he really needed to. It wasn’t easy admitting things to Blaine when he could barely admit to himself, especially when the Anderson heir had him locked under a harsh glare.

“It’s just a crush,” Sam relented.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Blaine exclaimed.

“Will you calm down?”

“This isn’t like the time when you fucked Santana Lopez on a dare, Sam,” Blaine hissed. “You are talking about the daughter of the most powerful Democrat in this country, who by the way hates everyone with the last name Evans!”

“I told you Blaine, it’s just a crush.”

“Sam you don’t have crushes,” Blaine snapped. “You fall madly in love, diving off into the deep end before you can fucking swim! How did this even happen?”

“She’s my tutor for Calculus,” Sam admitted.

“You’re having Mercedes Jones tutor you in Calculus? Why didn’t you just ask David or Wes?”

“Because sometimes it’s hard to ask those closest to us for help, as I’m sure you’re well aware of.  Hell, we haven’t even begun to discuss what the hell happened to you last night,” Sam snapped back at Blaine.

“And if you want your little favor, we’ll never get around to that particular conversation,” Blaine replied. “Those are my terms, take it or leave it Sam.”

“Just call the damn chancellor Blaine,” Sam said. Whatever Blaine was hiding would have to wait until he could bring in the reinforcements.

“I’ll call him,” Blaine agreed, “but your ass needs to find a new tutor.”

When Blaine and Sam re-entered the living room where Kurt lay, Mercedes marched right up to them and said, “Let me make something very clear to both of you: this may be your house and your doctor, but Kurt is _my_ friend and I’m not going to stand around watching you two make back room deals _or_ listen to any more of your snarky attitude!”

“Or what?” Blaine threw back.

Though Kurt could have called it, Sam was surprised to see how quickly Mercedes’ hand whipped across Blaine’s face. She didn’t waver under the intense glare Blaine threw back at her either. In the end it was Kurt who broke the standoff by asking, “Can you really arrange for that transfer?”

“Yes,” Blaine bit out stepping around Mercedes. “Years ago Sam secured a spot among the class of 2000 but his parents decided to stick with McKinley. Out of respect for the family, the Chancellor left Sam’s space vacant.”

“This is insane,” Mercedes interrupted. “We shouldn’t be trying to hide what Karofsky did you Kurt.”

“Transferring to Dalton protects not only Kurt’s body but his piece of mind,” Blaine said. “The last person to even threaten to harass another student was not only kicked out of Dalton Academy, but not even his children will be admitted. Chancellor Thomas takes physical violence very seriously.”

“Kurt, please don’t do this,” Mercedes begged dropping in front of him. “We can fix this. I can fix this. I can go to my father. He’d murder Karofsky for what he’s done.”

“And so would my dad, but I can’t do that,” Kurt replied. “I don’t want to be in the middle of a political battle: the poor little gay kid bullied by the big, bad evil Republican. The stress it would cause my father, with election season around the corner isn’t worth becoming a playing chip for the Democratic Party to throw around. And imagine if someone on the DNC’s conservative side tries to quiet my dad or your dad’s rage? You remember the last time someone tried to wage war with our fathers? It got so bad that I thought your mother was going to move out. Please Mercedes, you’re my best friend. I need your support on this. I’m not running. I’m just…picking my battles.”

“I’ll always support you Kurt,” Mercedes vowed, “but don’t you dare expect me to call this something that it isn’t. You shouldn’t have to be punished for being who you are.”

“And at Dalton I won’t be,” Kurt replied. “I know what I’m asking for.”

“We still need at least half of a good reason for why Kurt is transferring,” Blaine said.

“You all work out the details. I need some fresh air,” Mercedes mumbled heading to the door.

Kurt look like wanted to follow her, but Sam gently pushed him back down against the pillows.

“I’ll go make sure that she doesn’t stray too far,” Sam promised.

Blaine frowned as he watched his blonde haired friend go after her and barely kept himself from rolling his eyes.

“She likes him too,” Kurt said to Blaine.

“I’d be surprised if I hadn’t practically choked on the sexual tension between them,” Blaine frowned.

“So then why are you so against it?” Kurt asked.

“Don’t you remember how Romeo and Juliet ended?” Blaine threw back. “I still need an excuse Hummel. And rest assured that I will _not_ be the one speaking to Congressman Hummel about your transfer. That is completely on you.”

“I know that. We can say it’s because of Jesse St. James,” Kurt replied.

“The fashion designer who is now moonlighting as the head of Leighmiester’s fashion club?”

“You keep up with Jesse St. James?” Kurt asked slightly impressed.

“I keep up with everything that’s related to Dalton Academy. The more you know the easier to blackmail. Are you sure you’re good enough for his precious little club?”

“You know how blackmailing people is your thing?” Kurt asked. “Well fashion is mine. I don’t think I’m good enough, I _know_ that I am.”

“Confidence,” Blaine noted. “It looks better on you that I thought.”

“I’m not weak Blaine,” Kurt told him. “I’m just tired.”

Blaine didn’t respond verbally but Kurt was sure that he saw a flash of something in his eyes. It wasn’t pity—Kurt was quite sure that Blaine couldn’t even spell the word pity let alone emote it—but perhaps understanding? Respect? Maybe.

“Dr. Caine, make sure that Mr. Hummel here makes it up to one of the guest bedrooms,” Blaine said.

“Of course, Mr. Anderson,” the young doctor replied as Blaine disappeared through one of the other doors in the house to call Dalton’s Chancellor.

Mercedes didn’t run out into the street.  Sam found her down by the dock, looking over the still water. It was only until he got closer did he realize that her shoulders were shaking and she was trying to hold back sobs.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said.

“No you’re not,” Mercedes replied. “You didn’t just find out that your best friend was practically being terrorized by some Neanderthal who’ll probably never have to answer for it because of who is father is. In fact, you’re the reason that Kurt doesn’t want to face it head on. I know that you’re not sorry.”

“You’re right,” Sam said. “I’m not sorry about giving up my spot for Kurt, especially when he needs it, but I am sorry for the pain that you’re in.”

“Why do you care Sam?” Mercedes exclaimed. “Why should you give an honest fuck about my pain or what happens to Kurt?”

“I know what it feels like to be on the other end of Karofsky’s fist and I promise you it’s not a great feeling at all,” Sam explained. “Everyone has their limit and Kurt looks damn close to his.”

“And yet you stayed,” Mercedes threw back, “but you’re telling Kurt to hide.”

“I’m telling Kurt that he deserves to breathe,” Sam corrected. “I’ll bet you anything that if you asked him, he’d tell you that it’s not the attack that he fears, it’s the fact that he can never predict when it’s coming. Kurt always has to have his guard up; he can never relax. He can’t breathe at McKinley. Mercedes, if you fight Karofsky head on he’s going to do everything in his power to make sure that Kurt looks like the boy who cried wolf. You were down there with me, there were no security cameras. There’s no proof except Kurt’s word vs. the word of approximately five to seven other guys who aren’t going to rat on the other. Sometimes it’s better to back door deals.”

“Oh really?” Mercedes scoffed.

“That way your enemy can never see you coming,” Sam finished.

Mercedes allowed him to rest one hand on her shoulder, though she wasn’t quite sure how moments later that resulted in him having one arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“Nothing will happen to Kurt while he’s at Dalton,” Sam assured.

“I know,” Mercedes said, “but I’m just going to miss him.”

“He won’t be that far away and you won’t be alone,” Sam said. “I mean you at least still have Shane.”

“Shane,” Mercedes repeated. “Do you think he knew about this? I mean he had to have, right?”

“That’s not exactly true,” Sam said softly. He didn’t do it for Shane, but Mercedes already looked on the verge of more tears and Sam felt that now wasn’t the best time to paint his teammate as anything less than the doting boyfriend that he was supposed to be.

“David doesn’t really like a large audience,” Sam continued.

They stood in silence for a few more minutes before Sam thought he heard Mercedes’ mumbling. When he inquired about it she looked him in the eye and asked plainly, “What did he do to you?”

“Karofsky?” Sam clarified as she nodded. “He tried to make my life a living hell. And I didn’t run, as you say, not because I didn’t want to. Long story short, I was stuck at McKinley so I decided to make the best of it.”

Mercedes didn’t press him for more but she continued to lean into Sam’s embrace.  He only tried to pull away once, but when she shook her head no, Sam in return wrapped both of his arms around her. For a few minutes he allowed himself to relish in the feel of not only having her in his arms but her needing his embrace. It didn’t matter that in a few short hours they would have to go back to pretending that the other didn’t exist. Right now she needed him, and Sam was more than happy to be hers for the night.

The next morning Blaine Anderson was roused not by the sun from his window or Beethoven's 4th from his radio alarm but from the smell of pancakes. And there was only one person in the house who knew and shared his indescribile love for pancakes.

"If you think that trying to cook my favorite breakfast is going to get you off the hook…" Blaine began as he walked into the lake house's kitchen a few minutes later.

"I was actually thinking more oof a thank you."

Standing at the stove was not Sam but Kurt. He was wearing a pair of Blaine's Dalton sweats and his father's old Havard shirt.

"I'm glad that chocolate covered strawberries are your favorite," Kurt smiled.

"It's actually buttermilk," Blaine said.

"How original," Kurt teased, passing Blaine a plate.

"You don't mess with a classic," Blaine replied before taking his first bite. He couldn't hold back the groan that escaped from him as the breakfast melted in his mouth.

"Does someone have a new favorite?" Kurt grinned.

Blaine swallowed before stubbornly replying, "No."

"How long have you been working on that whole I'm better than everyone else persona?" Kurt chuckled.

"Since they ripped him from his mother's womb," Sam said as he walked into the kitchen. "I thought I smelled pancakes. Oh strawberries and chocolate!"

"Just think of it as my thanks," Kurt said passing a plate to Sam.

"Please don't mention it," Sam said. "I don't think Mercedes is still very happy with me."

"Shouldn't matter," Blaine shrugged. "You're getting a new tutor."

"You let me worry about Mercedes.  Besides, I highly doubt that she would stop tutoring you over this," Kurt promised, "and if you try to weasel out now that'll probably just piss her off even more."

"Why should we care about what gets Mercedes Jones' panties in a twist?" Blaine scoffed.

"You do care about the other side of your face right?" Kurt chuckled as Blaine frowned. "You may have millions of dollars to your name and legions of men and women ready to lay it all down for you, but you are not important enough for me to stand in the way if Mercedes choses to make a target out of you."

"If that were truly the case, then you should be more worried about her rather than me," Blaine replied.

"She may just be a pretty face to you, but there's a lot more to Mercedes Jones than meets the eye," Kurt said in return. "I know exactly who I'm betting on."

Their conversation was cut short by Mercedes herself who entered the kitchen and quickly sat down with her own plate of pancakes, which included bananas.

“Why does _she_ get bananas?” Blaine asked in between bites. “I’m the host here.”

“You didn’t ask, _oh gracious host_ ,” Mercedes shrugged. “Ask and ye shall receive, seek and ye shall find, knock and the door shall be opened.”

“It is Sunday isn’t it?” Blaine replied.

“Why is that a—”

Kurt’s question was cut off by a loud knock. Both Blaine and Sam locked eyes for a brief horrific second before they stared to push Mercedes and Kurt into the nearest closet.

“Have both of your lost your damn minds?” Mercedes snapped.

“Shut it Jones,” Blaine replied. “If we’re lucky it’s just Nick or Wes.”

“And if we’re not so lucky?” Kurt asked.

“My mother,” Sam said.

That got Mercedes’ attention and she made no qualms about hightailing it to the back of the coat closet.  She stood behind a few thick trench coats pressed against the corner, praying that the darkness would conceal her. They could hear Blaine politely greet the guest from outside of the closet and Mercedes felt a cold shiver as she heard the woman’s reply.

“So what exactly have you two been up to?” Martha Evans asked as her heels echoed through the house. “Since neither one of you decided that speaking to your parents for the last 32 hours wasn’t a necessity.”

“This is all just a simple misunderstanding Mrs. Evans,” Blaine began.

“Sam doesn’t come home for two nights and it’s just a simple misunderstanding?” she laughed. “Blaine honey, I know you’re enjoying your disappearing act, but please do remember that it only takes a quick phone call to your mother to inform her of exactly where you are. So let’s hear the story boys.”

“Mother, I’m sorry I haven’t checked in,” Sam apologized. “Friday night I stayed at Jeff’s—”

“Are you sure you didn’t mean Nick’s because that’s what Wesley told me,” Martha cut in. “So, let’s start at the real beginning: there was raging party Friday night, you passed out and…”

“And I left,” Blaine finished. “I left in the middle of the night to come here but the boys didn’t notice until Saturday morning and Sam spent all of yesterday looking for me. I finally let him in late last night and we talked before falling asleep.”

“Samuel, do you remember what I said at the end of the summer about half truths?” Martha asked.

“You said that you’d make me wish that I’d told a lie,” Sam replied.

“Perhaps I should have been clearer. I’ll make you wish you’d been caught telling a lie and I should probably make good on my word now, but I’m glad you did at least remember that. I’m not interested in hearing about how supposedly evil I am,” Martha said as she passed the coat room where Kurt and Mercedes were hidden. “So are you two going to make me search the entire house for your little whores?”

“There’s no one here Mother,” Sam insisted.

“Oh really? Then who cooked?” Martha asked politely as Mercedes mentally swore. “As much as you boys love pancakes I know for a fact that a toddler can cook more edible food than the two of you put together. So did you pull all of this food out of your asses the way you did that little story? Oh let me guess you cooked the food late last night and it took you all morning to get it right!” There was more clicking of heels, thankfully away from the closet before Martha chimed in again. “Well besides the fact there’s suspiciously a lot of food even for two boys, there’s no mess and I didn’t see the maid’s car in the driveway…oh I know you two cleaned, a favorite pastime of yours.  And to top it all off, the pan is a little too hot for me to believe that story.  Now since I didn’t see any half naked women running around the back I have to assume that they’re still here. Oh this is going to be fun. How about we start with the coat closet?”

With every click of Martha Evans’ heels, Mercedes could feel her stomach twist tighter and by the time the door swung open her heart had jumped into her throat. Martha Evans parted the coats in the closet like the Red Sea and starred melodramatically at the blank beige wall behind them.

“I hope you two don’t think that I’m going to check corner to corner,” Martha announced as she began pushing back coat after coat.

“Don’t know why you’d bother,” Blaine said lazily. “You’re better off heading upstairs.”

“And why’s that? Trying to protect the little whore hidden behind these blazers?” Martha asked.

After those blazers in question was a cluster of thick trench coats, and after those Mercedes.

“More closets,” Blaine said cheekily. “The possibilities are endless.”

Martha Evans stopped sorting through the coats, but a loud slap did echo in the small space.

“Do you think this is funny?” she seethed. “For a minute let’s just forget about the fact that Samuel here has a lovely girlfriend who’s been worried sick about you. What you can never forget is the fact that you two are the sons of some of the most powerful men in this country. Whether you like it or not, your faces are going to grace the cover of Forbes magazine one day and I will not live to see you two try to tear down your own legacies just because you got too wild in your childhood. Those little sluts that approach you when you two go out with your friends want nothing but your money. They don’t give a shit about you or about what it takes to be a member of our realm of society. Now I let you continue your friendship with Sterling on the agreement that you would use common sense…”

“And we have,” Sam interjected. “I was really worried about Blaine last night but that’s no excuse for not checking in. I messed up and I’m sorry.”

“Well you can express your apologies on the way to Mass. And yes Blaine you’re going too.  Now, while neither of you smell like pot, I don’t want to take my chances. Upstairs, shower now.”

Mercedes heard the boys leave but she didn’t hear the clicking of Mrs. Evans’ heels. Her suspicions were confirmed as she heard the scraping of jackets flying back, much faster than before. Martha stopped when there was only one thick leather trench coat left and then pushed harshly into the middle of the jacket, pressing into Mercedes’ stomach and Mercedes could not hold back the soft gasp.

“Well there’s one,” Martha said. There was a loud scrape and Mercedes felt the weight of more jackets as Martha made her way to Kurt’s end. He let out a light whimper and Mercedes figured that she’d pressed just a bit too hard against his bruises.

“Well now that we’ve all been acquainted I want to make something very clear: if you ever darken this doorstep or any of the other homes associated with my boys and his friends I’ll make you wish that you were never born. And if I find you or any of your other little friends at _my_ house, well let’s just say that it’ll be an experience that you’ll never forget,” Martha Evans promised before slamming the door closed.

Mercedes and Kurt waited until they heard Mrs. Evans, Sam and Blaine leave before re-emerging from the closet. Mercedes helped Kurt back up the steps, and when he collapsed on the bed they slept in the night before, Mercedes heard the jingle of keys.  Just below the pillows was a note with Sam’s messy chicken scratch telling them to take his car and he’d call her late about a rendezvous to pick it up.

“I thought I was going to see Jesus,” Kurt said breaking the silence.

“You’re not the only one,” Mercedes replied. “How are you feeling?”

“Other than the fact that my heart still wants to jump out of my chest? Fine. She didn’t press too hard. What scared me the most down there was the fact that she’d gotten so close. One more coat and it would have been a hell of a lot worse…”

“I know,” Mercedes said lying down beside him, not wanting to think about what Martha Evans would have said if she’d known who was behind that last coat.

“We need to talk about you and Sam,” Kurt announced.

“Oh no we don’t,” Mercedes objected, “especially since there isn’t a ‘me and Sam’.” She turned to see Kurt staring at her undeterred.

“Do you really think that he did all of this to make sure he gets an ‘A’ in Calculus?” Kurt scoffed.

“No,” Mercedes answered truthfully, “but whatever it is he wants, he’s not going to get it. Speaking of which, are you sure about this whole Dalton thing?”

“Yes. So when you tell Sam no, can you at least do it nicely,” Kurt teased. “Look ‘Cedes I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about things getting worse with Karofsky but I just felt like if I said it out loud it would make it worse somehow, more real I guess and then ultimately it would make me feel more like a victim than I could handle. I know you don’t agree with my decision but—”

“I won’t say anything to either of our parents,” Mercedes promised. “Just don’t hide anything like this from me again.”

“I promise.”

They rested in silence for a few minutes before Mercedes asked, “Did Shane know?”

“It wasn’t really a secret in the boy’s locker room that Karofsky and Nelson hated me,” Kurt said carefully.

“Stop that,” Mercedes snapped. “Sam did the exact same thing last night! Stop sugar coating the truth. Did Shane know? Did he ever stand up for you? Did he ever tell Karofsky to go fuck himself?”

“Not exactly, but Mercedes it’s a dog eat dog mentality in there,” Kurt explained. “I understand that.”

“That’s not my point! I don’t care about the mentality! I care about you. Did anyone ever stick up for you?”

“Puckerman of all people did once,” Kurt chuckled thinking back to the standoff the day of the game. “It would be a sick coincidence if his prediction about Dave turned out to be true.”

“Just Puck?” Mercedes asked.

It was tempting to simply dance around the subject but after making that promise Kurt decided to tackle the discussion from another angle.

“Are you sure that you’re not looking for a way out of your relationship with Shane?” 

“I’m just trying to figure out what kind of guy my boyfriend is when he thinks I’m not looking!”

“He could be better,” Kurt said, “but he’s human ‘Cede. And to answer your _real_ question: yes, Sam Evans has defended me, more than once. But you know like I do that there’s some serious history between them. Karofsky practically walks on water around Sam and it’s not because he wants to kiss his feet.”

“Let’s get out here,” Mercedes said grabbing Sam’s keys. “I can’t stay in this house anymore and I sure as hell don’t want be here when the three of them get back.”

Monday morning was quickly proving to be a glorious day for Shane Tinsley. Coach Bieste had given him the best news of his life and Shane had already shared it with his parents. Simon Tinsley couldn’t have been any prouder and had already assured him that the Joneses and all of the other close friends of the family would come to celebrate Shane’s latest achievement.

Cornell.

Shane couldn’t wait to tell Mercedes. He wasn’t completely sure why the hell Sam Evans had given the scholarship up, but apparently when Bieste contacted him over the weekend, he’d flat out said no and even went as far as to name drop him. Shane had been assured by Bieste that he’d already been the scout’s number two pick, but Shane was ignorant of the blonde kid’s influence on the first female football coach in DC who was a proven champion. Maybe at least the next time he saw that Evans kid, Shane would say thank you.

Shane found his girlfriend at her locker and he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and lifted her off of the ground. She felt lifeless in his arms, not squealing or asking to be put down and when he did, she silently closed her locker and shot him a cold glare.

“I got some great news today baby,” Shane began trying to coax her into a smile.

When she didn’t respond Shane asked, “Baby what’s wrong?”

“We need to take a break,” Mercedes replied.

“Wait what? Where is this coming from all of the sudden?”

“What would you do if I told you that someone was hurting me?” Mercedes asked plainly. “Pushing me around me, calling me names and Azimo just stood by and let it happen. How would you react to that?”

“I would wipe the floor with his ass you know that baby girl,” Shane replied.

 “So you’d write him off no questions asked?” Mercedes clarified as her boyfriend nodded.

“ _Has_ someone been hurting you? Just give me their name; you know I’ll set them straight.”

“What if it were a friend of mine?” Mercedes pressed. “What if one of my closest friends was being harassed and you knew about it, would you ‘wipe the floor’ with that person’s ass too?”

“Of course!” Shane replied.

“So why haven’t you?” Mercedes snapped.

“Ex-excuse me?”

“How am I supposed to know that you’d honestly fight for me, when I know for a fact that despite your earlier sentiments you can’t extend one of my best friends just because he’s gay,” Mercedes snapped. “If you don’t like Kurt’s personal choices that’s fine, but the least you can do is respect him because of who is he to me. And if you can’t respect Kurt then I don’t want anything to do with you.”

Shane’s throat dried as he struggled to find the best way to make her understand.

“It was just a little bit of name calling,” Shane said weakly. “It never got out of hand.”

“Bullshit!” Mercedes snapped. “Do I look like an idiot to you Shane Tinsley? And this conversation is over before I do some real damage to your ass. Though I have to say, it’s sad to hear that Noah Puckerman and Sam Evans apparently have more balls than you.”

“Sam Evans?” Shane shouted after her as Mercedes walked away from him. “Baby you promised me that you wouldn’t hop on his dick like the rest of them. He’s not what everybody says he is.”

“I know that,” Mercedes replied, “and sadly, neither are you.”

Shane stood shell shocked. He could barely compute how he’d fallen from such a great high. This wasn’t how this day was supposed to go. Mercedes was supposed to praise him, celebrate with him, and love him.

Shane’s fist found the nearest locker but the pain wasn’t enough. As he headed back down the hall, he could feel the tension rippling through his chest. _Sam Fucking Evans._ His body was hunting him before his mind even realized it, and at the first sight of the blonde wide receiver, Shane Tinsley threw the hardest punch he could muster.

Quinn Fabray, who’d been standing alongside her boyfriend and Noah Puckerman, practically screamed as Sam went down and Puck quickly shoved Shane back before he could throw another punch.

“Have you lost your fucking mind Tinsley,” Puck roared.

“Move Puck,” Sam said darkly standing up straight as blood stained his uniform shirt.

Puck turned to see his friend’s demeanor change. Puck knew Sam to be a pretty chill guy, but his sense of loyalty and pride ran deep. He’d only seen him this angry once before and Puck stepped back knowing that Shane was about to get the wakeup call of a lifetime.

“Stay the fuck away from my girlfriend,” Shane snarled.

“You want to hit me Tinsley,” Sam said calmly. “Do it again.”

A crowd was starting to gather as the two heirs of political prominence began to face off.

“C’mon Tinsley,” Sam egged on. “Hit me again. I dare you to.”

Shane charged at him and Sam ducked, missing the hit that was aimed for his face and succeeded in using Shane’s momentum against him as a distraction to lift his wallet from his back pocket.

“You think force is the way to break people?” Sam began as Shane caught his breath from his collision with the lockers. “ _This_ is how you break someone.”

Shane stilled as he realized what Sam had taken and watched as an uncharacteristically dark smile appeared onto Sam’s face.

“Even without the security code or phrase that protects this account; do you know how easy it would be for someone like Blaine Anderson to get access to your bank provider?” Sam asked darkly. “His father owns about half the specialty and high clientele banks in DC and if you’re still banking with Bank of America there are plenty of low level computer technicians working for Anderson Incorporated looking for a way up. It doesn’t even have to be that difficult, especially since I know for a fact that your father has tried to do several back door deals with Levi Anderson in the past, so getting his information should be a breeze. Oops that was supposed to be secret, wasn’t it:  The fact that your father likes to lean towards the other side when he’s wary of the basket that William Jones lays his eggs in? I’m sure he wouldn’t want it out in the open how many times he’s snuck in a red vote behind William Jones’ back. So much for that Democratic loyalty.”

Anger rippled through Shane as the whispers increased. He made another charge for him, but was tripped up again by Sam _literally_ this time and found himself face down on the hard tiled floor.

“See you think that I’m the dumb blonde because that’s what I want you to think,” Sam continued. “You don’t know me Shane Tinsley. I don’t need brute force to be lethal. So here’s your warning, pumpkin.”

He threw Shane’s wallet back at him, while towering over his rising teammate.

“If you ever try to attack me again, I’ll break both of your fists and then I’ll make you wish that you were never born,” Sam warned. “And for the record, I didn’t say anything to your girlfriend. Whatever you did, I suggest that you own up to it, because I won’t be your punching bag Tinsley. But worry pumpkin, I sure as hell don’t have any qualms about making a punching bag out of you.”

Quinn wordlessly handed Sam his things when he was finished and flanked his right while Puck stayed to his left as they walked away from the scene.

“What the hell was that all about?” Quinn asked.

“Hell if I know,” Sam replied. “Probably the same shit from Friday night.”

“Looks like I need to have a chat with little Ms. Perfect about her little boyfriend,” Quinn frowned.

“Don’t bother,” Puck shrugged. “There’s no way in hell that Tinsley is going to try that shit on Sam again. Besides it sounds like she dumped his ass. Good for Jones. She may be the closest thing that those blue devils have to a princess but at least she’s not a stupid one.”

“Still Shane shouldn’t be harassing you,” Quinn frowned, “especially not after what you did for him, something I still don’t understand.”

“Never expected you to Q,” Sam replied

Quinn bit back her own retort. Sam was angry, he’d been attacked for seemingly no reason but Quinn Fabray wasn’t stupid. She was well aware that something else was going on and she’d be damned before letting another boy blindside her.

 “Well, I’ll have catch you later to catch you later babe,” Quinn said kissing Sam on the cheek. “Make sure you get someone to look at your jaw.”

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you that angry,” Puck said once Quinn skirted down the hall.

“Haven’t had a reason to,” Sam shrugged.

“It’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Puck continued. “It was kind of entertaining watching Shane shit himself, but it’s just a bit odd for you. Threatening and blackmailing people, that’s more of Blaine’s territory.”

“We’re the children of the most powerful men and women in politics, in this _country,_ ” Sam said, “and if we want to survive in this town threatening and blackmailing people has to be _everyone’s_ territory.”

Puck dropped the subject after that diverging into the upcoming baseball season, but his blonde friend was barely keeping up. Sam was almost certain that wouldn’t be the last confrontation that he’d have with Shane Tinsley but, if he really did want to fly under the radar for the next seven months, then perhaps he should take Blaine’s advice and find himself a new tutor.


	6. A Case of Mistaken Identity

Kurt Hummel had never professed to be Superman, but somewhere along the way he was quite sure that someone was mistaking him for the caped crusader. It was honestly silly, especially since he would never be caught dead in those fireman red spandex pants. However, he may have been guilty of associating that dubious title with Blaine Anderson.  It seemed that there would be no wrong that the Anderson heir couldn't fix and their brief moment of compassion that they shared at the Anderson's lake house caused a disgusting amount of perspiration on Kurt's pale hands as he walked through the rustic corridors of Dalton Academy on his first day.

Despite the school's classic sharp blazers that made virtual clones of all of its students, the future billionaire wasn't hard to find. The sea of students parted for him and he was bizarrely without any of the other 4 boys that usually kept him company. Also gone were the thick curls that he'd let hang loose in the privacy of his home. Everything was slicked back to perfection and the sleek look only added to the fact that even in the uniform blazer Blaine Anderson could not be missed.

Anyone who was not Blaine however, evidently could.

"Blaine! Blaine," Kurt hollered over the crowd. He could forgive pure innocence but Blaine looked right at him and kept walking, leaving Kurt to fight the blush as several of his new classmates stared bewilderedly at him. Perhaps at Dalton Academy Blaine Anderson was some kind of god—like Quinn Fabray at McKinley—and he had no time or patience for his lowly and slightly less rich classmates.

"Don't worry about that," one the blazer clones, a brunette who Kurt quickly recognized as Nick Mega, said as he approached. "No one's quite sure what crawled up Blaine's ass but if I were you, I'd just give him a bit of space."

"Trust us, no one wants to be around baby Blainers when he's suffering from PMS," Jeff Sterling added as he joined Kurt and Nick.

"Jeffrey," Kurt greeted. "Glad to see that your level of insensitivity hasn't changed."

"Good to see you too Kurt," Jeff replied. "Shame you couldn't bring Mercedes Jones over with you in that transfer. I thought you two were two peas in a pod."

"Was that your way of indirectly asking me if there was something behind the scenes with my transfer to Dalton Academy?" Kurt asked unimpressed.

"Oh God no," Jeff laughed. "I just wanted to see how easy it would be to crack you. And let's not play dumb here shall we?  There is most definitely something behind the event with your transfer and I'm not the only one who wants to hear the tale. You're not in Kansas anymore, Toto. I'd be careful of who you trust here."

"Don't let Jeff get you too superstitious," Nick cut in. "We're not all political animals gunning for the highest seat on the totem pole. Some of us just like to relax, hang out, and maybe do a little singing..."

"Here we go," Jeff groaned. "Run while you still can Hummel. You're not his friend. Technically you don't have to do anything he says."

"Ignore Mr. Melodramatic over there," Nick continued. "The Warbles are like rock stars at Dalton."

"Only because they can get us out of class," Jeff muttered under his breath.

"And with competition season around the corner, we would love a new addition," Nick finished.

"A new addition from the same show choir who every year shuts you out of Sectionals… that doesn't sound suspicious or anything,” Kurt replied.

“So he does think like a son of a politician,” Jeff grinned.

“Jeffrey just because I don’t make it my life’s pleasure to cause others pain, doesn’t mean that I’m completely inept in how to do so,” Kurt replied.

“Oh I wasn’t talking about you Hummel,” Jeff teased. “I was referring to Nick.”

“You ass,” Nick threw back.

Aside from Blaine’s complete disregard and some of the subtle questioning looks from a few of his classmates, Kurt’s first weeks at Dalton had been easy; almost too easy. He couldn’t remember the last time going to school had been so simple. Every day was much like the day before. There were never any surprises around the corner, and once Kurt was able to let himself accept this new truth he found himself flourishing in his new found love of monotony. His father was still overly suspicious of the entire transfer. It hadn’t been easy convincing Burt Hummel that Jesse St James was truly enamored with Kurt’s designs and wanted to mentor him, but the distance and the fact that it was nearly impossible to reach Jesse St. James did lend a helpful hand. In truth the fashion designer did like Kurt’s designs, even if he’d never breathe a word of that in public.

In his first two weeks at Dalton, Kurt threw himself into his school work. Jesse’s fashion club kept him three times a week and when he wasn’t with the ladies of Leighmeister, Kurt stood amongst some of his new classmates as a Warbler. He hadn’t been very interested in the offer at first, but Mercedes insisted that he at least give it a try, as to not alienate himself from his class and while it wasn’t the same as The New Directions, Kurt found himself adjusting rather nicely. Nick and Jeff were regulars in the club, while David, Wes and Blaine were primarily spectators. The Warbler’s leader, Sebastian Smythe had been apparently trying to recruit David and Wes for some time now, though Nick, who served as second in command, claimed that Sebastian wanted more of Blaine’s friends among the Warbler ranks in hopes of luring Blaine into the group. The Anderson heir had once been a star member of the group during his freshman year, before Sebastian’s arrival.  Unfortunately, less than half way into Blaine’s sophomore year, the same year that Symthe descended upon the school, Blaine unceremoniously left and never turned back.

“He seems rather…flamboyant,” Kurt said to Jeff during one rehearsal.

“Sebastian? He’s just one smug asshole,” Jeff replied.

“So he’s not gay?” Kurt asked.

“Honestly no one at Dalton really gives a fuck whether Sebastian is gay or not,” Jeff replied. “He’ll occasionally bed some Leighmiester girl but I’d wager he’d rather take it up the ass any day.”

“Just please don’t tell me that you’re attracted to him,” Jeff continued. “That would not only ruin our friendship but it would break my fragile heart. You know that you’re the apple of my eye Hummel.”

“Hush Sterling,” Kurt replied rolling his eyes. Jeff was a good acquaintance. Kurt was hesitant to call him a friend solely because of the cloak of mischief that he constantly wore, but Jeff was a funny and brutally honest guy. Nick had quickly landed himself a spot as one of the nicest guys Kurt had ever met. In fact all of Blaine friends had turned out to be top notch guys—Kurt had found great study partners through Wes and David as they shared several classes—which made him wonder why any of them put up with Blaine, who since Kurt’s time at Dalton had yet to be seen with them.

It was as Kurt was dwelling on this, that life brought him one of those surprises that he’d so _sorely_ missed.

“Excuse the interruption gentleman,” Wes walked in during a Warbler’s Friday afternoon rehearsal.

“Wesley,” Sebastian greeted. “As I’m sure you know our recruitment period ended last week but I’m sure we can always make an exception…”

“Maybe another time,” Wes cut over him. “The Chancellor needs to see Kurt Hummel.”

Confusion quickly marred Kurt’s face. The Chancellor had only spoken with him once in an abbreviated new student’s orientation. He’d been polite enough, but Chancellor Thomas wasn’t the type of man who held an open door policy. He’d made it very clear that if Kurt was back in his office it would not be something to delight over.

Sebastian quickly dismissed Kurt, realizing he wouldn’t be getting any closer to his own personal motives with this conversation. Wes led a swift pace from the hall where the Warblers were practicing and curiously enough down the winding staircases that led to the entrance of the school.

“We’re not going to see Chancellor Thomas?” Kurt asked.

“No,” Wes replied, “but Sebastian enjoys meddling into other’s business. This is a matter that I figured that you’d want as little of an audience as possible.”

Wes led Kurt to the senior parking lot, which was mostly instantly saved for David Makin Jr., who was leaning against Kurt’s black Lincoln Navigator that was mauled with bright red spray paint. Realizing that someone had written “faggot” on every side of the car caused Kurt to freeze. He didn’t drop his belongings or attempt to hold back any tears. He simply stood there trying to compute how foolish he could have been in thinking that transferring school would somehow create a permanent escape.

“Has anyone come out yet?” Wes asked David, eyeing Kurt carefully.

“Not yet,” David replied, “but we should probably move the vehicle before someone notices.”

“There’s a lot not too far from here where you can park overnight for free, unless you’d prefer a more traditional course of action,” David offered.

“No,” Kurt replied, reaching for his keys.

“Here,” Wes said, reaching for the set. “Let me drive.”

Kurt paid little attention to his surroundings as Wesley drove to the lot. He couldn’t keep his head from spinning and the more that he thought about his precious time at Dalton the sicker his stomach felt. None of this should have been so surprising. Just because Dalton provided room and board for its students didn’t mean that Kurt had been cut off from the rest of the world and his old “friends”.  He should have seen this coming; he should have known that things were going too well.

When Wes parked the car, Kurt didn’t take in the fact that they were parked at the top level of an almost empty parking garage but he instead blanched at the reason of why the parking lot was _almost_ empty.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Kurt snapped as he exited his car.

“Kurt, Blaine was the one who found your car in the parking lot,” Wes replied. “He wanted to make sure that the incident wouldn’t spread around the entire school. He’s here to drive us back.”

David and Wes silently got into the back of Blaine’s sleek convertible leaving the front seat open for Kurt. Blaine said nothing on the ride over to Dalton, not even taking the time to wordlessly acknowledge Kurt’s presence but when the billionaire heir turned to speak to Wes, Kurt could feel his blood boiling.

“Stop the car,” he demanded.

“Excuse me?” Blaine asked turning to him for the first time.

“I said stop the goddamn car,” Kurt repeated.

“I think Kurt just needs some air,” Wes added calmly as Blaine pulled over the side of the road.

“I don’t need _air_ ,” Kurt hissed slamming the door behind him as he left the car.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Blaine snapped, stepping out of the front seat.

“I’ll walk back to Dalton or home or to my car. I don’t know and I really don’t care,” Kurt snapped. “I just need to get the hell away from you.”

“Are you on some sort of acid trip?” Blaine sneered. “We’re trying to _help_ you.”

“So now you want to help me? That’s just great because I live my life waiting for you to “help” me.  Let’s be clear here, I don’t want help from anyone who enjoys moonlighting as a savior but can’t show any inkling of respect towards others during the day,” Kurt threw back. “If I was such a thorn in your side before Anderson, why did you even bother helping me? You know what you are? You are an asshole. You’ve treated me like shit, your friends, hell everyone in this damn school like shit because you think because of who your parents are you have some sort of authority over everyone who you encounter!”

“You don’t know me Hummel,” Blaine replied darkly, “which is why I’ll ignore your little pissy rant because if you did, you’d know that I am the wrong person to cross.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Kurt snapped back before turning his back on them.

Kurt easily walked down the side of the road for an hour. In his rage of course he’d left his satchel, which held his cellphone, in Blaine’s car. With no one to call, Kurt tried to walk in the direction where he believed they’d parked his car. Just as his feet began to blister thanks to his rather fabulous, but no so practical shoes, a car slowed down beside him as the driver called out, “It's one thing to want someone out of your life, but it's another thing to serve them a wake-up cup full of liquid Drano.”

Kurt stopped on the side of the road and fought a smile.

“Did you just quote _Heathers_?” he asked Jeff Sterling who sat in the front seat of a deep green Toyota MR2 Turbo. “Besides, I haven’t poisoned Blaine, though the idea is tempting.”

“That movie’s a classic,” Jeff shrugged. “I could see myself going steady with Veronica Sawyer.”

“I’m sure she’d just kill you first,” Kurt replied. “Look, if you’re here to tell me that Blaine was “worried” don’t bother.”

“Fine, I won’t tell you that Blaine was “worried”,” Jeff replied, “but I will tell you that I don’t give up as easily as Mr. Anderson. Blaine’s an asshole, always has been and always will be. Let me drop you off back at the school so I can go formally kick his ass.”

“I don’t need a savior,” Kurt snapped.

“Oh it’s not for you,” Jeff grinned. “It’s almost 3:30 on a Friday, that’s my normal time to kick Anderson’s ass. Heaven forbid we get off schedule.”

“C’mon Hummel, let me take you back,” Jeff continued. “At the very least, I’m sure your feet will thank me.”

When the two boys arrived back at Dalton, Kurt was quick to leave the sports car, though he did give Jeff a small nod of thanks. Jeff didn’t hold anything against him. He could still remember the first time he went toe-to-toe with Blaine. His curly haired friend often meant well, but he was simply terrible with follow through. Blaine’s actions would often emulate one ideal but when he opened his damn mouth…

“Took you long enough,” Blaine frowned as Jeff joined his group of friends.

“Nice to see you too sunshine,” Jeff replied. “You did a cute little number on Hummel earlier.”

“We’ve already agreed to put that on temporary pause,” Wes cut in. “Did you check the security tapes?”

“Yep,” Jeff replied. “Whoever came in were smart enough to keep their faces concealed, but sometimes when you’re in a rush to leave, some things get forgotten.”

Jeff handed Nick, who stood closest to him a small slip of paper.

“Is this a license plate number?” Nick asked.

“Yep, whoever owns the car was the one who paid Kurt’s car a visit last night.”

“I already know who did it, I need proof that he did,” Blaine said. “Is any chance that I can get you to run those numbers by the local car dealerships, Jeff?  Preferably the ones that are more likely to supply under the radar to any of our fellow _cops.”_

“Any chance I can get you to fess up to why Kurt Hummel transferred here in the first place?” Jeff threw back.

“I told you,” Blaine replied. “Sam owed him a favor.”

“While I’m going to call bullshit again,” Nick cut in, “Jeff and I will handle the luxury car rentals. I imagine that you’re going to talk to Sam?”

“Don’t bother,” Wes cut in taking the written license plate number away from Blaine. “Both of our families are going to the opera tonight. I’ll talk to him then.”

“I bet you hate that,” Jeff grinned as he watched Blaine frown, “the fact that we’re going to find out what you and Sam are hiding whether you like it or not.”

“I told you Jeff,” Blaine retorted, “there’s nothing to hide.”

“What about Kurt’s car?” David asked.

“I’ll take care of that,” Blaine replied.

“And there you go,” Nick sighed, “playing Superman again.”

“I’m not Superman nor am I trying to be him,” Blaine snapped as he walked away from his friends. “For one thing I wouldn’t be caught dead in those damn spandex pants.”

Friday for Mercedes was only going marginally better than Kurt’s. The day had started with a rejection letter from NYADA. For the first few minutes she couldn’t help but stare blankly at the paper that Bryan Ryan had hand delivered.  It was one of her many tactics to keep the letter from failing into the hands of her father, but when Rachel Berry had entered the classroom shooting Mercedes a smug look, Mercedes nearly lost it. Thankfully, Tina and John Locke, a fellow Glee club member, had kept her from slapping the smug look off of Berry’s face. Tina managed to get their English teacher’s permission for the pair of them to get some air and while they walked down the hall, Tina dialed the admissions office for NYADA. Apparently the second part of her application never made it to their office and they were unwilling to re-evaluate the application without proof that there had been an error on behalf the postal service and/or NYADA themselves. They’d tried to get to the postal office where Mercedes had sent the application through as quickly as possible after school, but the manager had already left by the time they arrived. Mercedes returned to an empty home and sore heart despite Tina’s insistence that they would get to the bottom of this. The Jones’ home didn’t stay empty for long. Santana Lopez, who was now moonlighting as cupid, arrived after her cheerleading practice to help get Mercedes out of her funk and ready for her date with college freshman Anthony Rashad.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Mercedes grumbled as Santana sorted through her closet.  Apparently the outfit that Mercedes had originally chosen hadn’t been “sexy” enough. “My break-up with Shane is still pretty fresh.”

Santana almost paused from her hunt to shoot her a look that clearly said ‘bullshit’.

“Which is why you were so eager to agree to the date a few days ago,” Santana threw back.

“Because I wanted to get Shane out of my head,” Mercedes defended.

“And you will once you go on this date with Anthony. He’s a nice guy, a freshman in college, has a plan for himself. What more could you want?”

“I-I don’t know,” Mercedes sighed leaning against her pillows.

“You don’t know or you don’t _want_ to know?” Santana clarified watching her new friend battle with herself. Santana didn’t ask many questions about why Kurt Hummel had left McKinley but she couldn’t help but feel a bit thankful for his absence. The last time she had a girlfriend that she could confide in had been elementary school. The dinner between the Jones and the Lopez families had opened the door for a potential friendship, but Kurt’s absence sped up what could have easily been an awkward process for the two former enemies. While neither was anxious to admit, both girls needed a close ally and friend at McKinley.

“I don’t know the answer to that either,” Mercedes said softly.

“Well until you figure that out, put this dress on,” Santana replied throwing a deep purple wrap dress at her.

If Mercedes were counting perks from Kurt’s transfer—or better yet tutoring Sam Evans—she would count the budding friendship with Santana, though that admission would probably have to be balanced out with the fact that her date with Anthony, which had been Santana’s _brilliant_ idea, was quickly cementing itself as the second worse “first date” she’d ever had.

Not that this was entirely, or even partially Anthony’s fault.

Mercedes was willing to swallow that she may have stretched the truth when she said that her break up with Shane was still fresh. In some ways it was as she couldn’t avoid his heartbroken expression when she went to school and Mercedes knew that the “sudden” breakup was causing some light tension between their mothers. Mercedes had stayed completely mum about why she’d broken up with Shane but Irene Jones had naturally pieced together that it had something to do with Kurt Hummel leaving McKinley. She had decided to go to Shane to question him about it, who in turn went to his mother—though Shane profusely denied such an action—and now the two women weren’t speaking with each other despite the best attempts from their husbands. If their mothers hadn’t gotten into that little _disagreement,_ Mercedes was sure that William Jones would be back playing the same tricks that he’d pulled out all summer long. This is why Mercedes couldn’t help but wonder if there was a little surprise from her father waiting around some unlucky corner while dining with Anthony—that was her first problem.

The second problem was the same issue that had been plaguing Mercedes since she started dating Shane. Anthony was a nice guy, had a great smile and sense of humor and seemed to have everything together but everything seemed so practiced. She felt like she was on a date with Mr. Perfect instead of Anthony Rashad who probably a much more interesting guy, but maybe she was being too harsh…

Mercedes sat up straight in her chair and put more energy in being a part of the conversation that was happening right in front of her.

“But enough about me,” Anthony said, “I want to hear more about you. Santana told me that you’re an amazing singer.”

“Singing is my passion,” Mercedes replied offering a small smile. “I’ve applied to a few music schools.”

“That’s amazing,” Anthony replied flashing another one of his brilliantly bright smiles. “I wish you the best of luck. I love the arts, but I don’t have a single artist bone in my body. I bet your family is so proud of you. God, if my Dad thought I was interested in something other than being a business major, he’d probably skin me alive! Or do something crazy like call the admissions office to AU and have the change my—”

“Stop,” Mercedes interrupted.

There was no way _in hell_.

“Is everything okay, Mercedes?” Anthony asked.

It was no secret that William Jones wasn’t enthused over the idea of Mercedes pursuing music as a full time career, but he wouldn’t dare go to those types of extremes. He was smarter than that, wasn’t he?

“No,” Mercedes answered weakly as the pit in the bottom of her stomach grew. It was probably all for naught, but Mercedes couldn’t escape the idea until she had reasonable proof that she was wrong. “I-I need to go.”

“Is it the food? I mean we can go somewhere else?” Anthony suggested.

“No! No, it’s not you, it’s—”

“Please don’t finish that statement with ‘me’,” Anthony cut in.

“No,” Mercedes replied, “I was actually going to finish it with my father. I really hate to do this, but I need to see him.”

Friday night for Sam Evans was supposed to be a bit of a bore. His mother had arranged for his family to join the Leung family in attending an opera at the Kennedy Center, but of course since they were _so close_ to his office Richard Evans couldn’t resist the urge to stop inside of the Russell Office to finish “just a few things”. Sam had bit back a groan when his father first announced the detour and Martha Evans had resorted to looking at her husband as if he had called her by the wrong name.

Upon entering the Russell Office, the Evans family made their way upstairs to Richard Evans’ temporary office and encountered a slightly frazzled Mercedes Jones standing at her father’s door.

“Attempting a breaking and entering, Ms. Jones?” Martha Evans asked coolly.

“Senator and Mrs. Evans,” Mercedes greeted with a faux kindness that every child of a politiciankept handy. “I’m actually waiting for the janitor. I left my keys in my father’s office.”

“Well breaking the handle off of the door won’t get in the office any faster Ms. Jones,” Martha Evans continued. “Patience is a virtue, I’m sure your mother has told you that.”

“Yes she has,” Mercedes replied stiffly. She didn’t dare glance towards Sam, whom she’d been successful in avoiding for the past two weeks.

Richard Evans was quick to continue to his office and his wife and son followed him, though both Sam’s parents missed the last glance that Sam threw Mercedes’ way. Once inside Richard Evans’ office, Martha Evans made her clear disdain known.

“Richard if you make us late for this opera, I’ll make certain that you won’t have to worry about the up-coming midterm because there won’t be a Senator Evans for anyone to vote for,” she snapped.

“Martha, darling, why don’t you just relax,” Richard replied calmly already digging through his filling system. “This will only take just a minute.”

“Is this the part where we wait here for three hours?” Sam muttered to his mother as they both took a seat on the couch in the lobby, while the Evans’ patriarch disappeared in his office.

“Absolutely not,” Martha Evans replied. “If you’re not interested in spending the night watching your father work, do me a favor Samuel, and go wait by the car.”

“Why?”

“Well because I don’t think that you’re interested in witnessing firsthand how you were conceived,” Martha Evans replied frankly as she stood. Sam blushed instantly and made his way to the door. While Sam may not personally approve of all of her methods, his mother almost always got the job done and if Sam didn’t have to witness the trickery—well they were all better because of it.

As Sam made his way back down the hall he realized that Mercedes was gone, but the door to Senator Jones’ office was now open. Sam carefully stepped inside and found her standing in her father’s private office in front of a tall filing cabinet clutching tightly onto a manila folder. She jumped when Sam called her name and he couldn’t miss the tears that were staining her face.

“Mercedes, what happened?” Sam asked quickly crossing the room to her.

She shook her head, turning from him but when Sam reached her Mercedes loosened her grip on the manila folder and allowed Sam to take it from her.

“Is this your NYADA application?” Sam asked scanning the documents inside of the manila folder.

“Yep,” Mercedes answered, “and it was due two weeks ago.”

“Then what’s it doing here?”

The pain in her eyes quickly answered that question for Sam and he couldn’t help but ache for her.

“Are you sure it was him?” Sam asked softly.

“Who else could it be?” Mercedes snapped, letting herself vent. “Who else gives a damn that I don’t want anything to do with politics?!”

She walked herself over the couch across from her father’s desk and ran her hands through her hair. Sam took a seat next to her and gently said, “My father nearly killed me when he found out that I gave up the Cornell scholarship, so trust me when I say I know your pain. I know ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t really help, but for what it’s worth, I _am_.”

Mercedes didn’t respond, but instead sat next to him trying to stop her own tears. The only person she could stand to cry in front of was Kurt. Sam shouldn’t be here, they should even be alone like this.

“You can’t give up,” Sam continued softly. “If this is your dream, Mercedes you have to fight for it. You can’t be his little girl forever and you can show him that by fighting your dream to sing. You have the voice of an angel and there’s no reason that anyone should be trying to clip your wings, even if they mean well by it.”

Sam carefully placed his left hand over her right and gently squeezed. Pleased that she hadn’t pushed him away, Sam replaced his left hand with his right one and wrapped his left arm over her shoulders. Mercedes molded herself into his side and let the last of her tears fall on their own.

“How do we keep doing this?” she asked after a few moments of silence.

“Doing what?” Sam replied.

“ _This_. Us. Alone. How does this keep happening?”

“Why do you keep questioning it?” Sam asked.

“Because you and I both know that nothing can come from it,” Mercedes answered sitting up to face him.

“Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun a bit there Ms. Jones?” Sam teased. “I don’t know the first thing about you.”

“That’s because you haven’t asked,” Mercedes replied.

“Favorite color,” Sam shot off.

“Green, but this doesn’t help my point,” Mercedes argued.

“Who says I’m here to help your point?” Sam replied smugly. “I thought it was purple.”

“Everyone does,” Mercedes sighed. “My mother’s favorite color is purple. I like green, emerald green specifically.”

“Emerald green,” Sam repeated smiling. Not that it was of any coincidence, but Sam happened to have emerald green eyes, beautiful emerald green eyes or so he’d been told. The opinion of others didn’t seem to matter much in the moment and Sam couldn’t help but wonder if she enjoyed his eyes as much as those who had commented on them in the past.

“If you couldn’t sing in this world then what would you do?” Sam asked.

“I would reply with die, but I don’t believe in the no win scenario,” Mercedes answered.

“Wait a minute; did you just quote Wrath of Khan?” Sam grinned.

“I have two older brothers and parents who moonlight as leaders of Nichelle Nichols’ harem,” Mercedes replied, “ _of course_ I just quoted Wrath of Khan.”

“Mm, the force is strong in this one,” Sam grinned.

“I am not here for you to be mixing films, Evans,” Mercedes replied cracking a small smile.

“I’m just glad that you know that they’re from two different movies,” Sam sighed. “You would not believe how uneducated some people are…”

Mercedes laughter danced in the room and Sam could help but feel a swell of pride as he watched her relax just a little bit more.

“Well then,” she said after her laughter subdued, “maybe you should reconsider the company you keep.”

“Maybe I should,” Sam said softly. “Any other surprises worth noting, young one?”

“Nope. I haven’t quite mastered Vulcan or Klingon, but when I do I’ll let you know,” Mercedes replied giggling. In her laughter she nearly missed Sam muttering something that was definitely not in English.

“Did you just speak Vulcan?” she asked him, poking him lightly as he blushed.

“Nope. Did not,” he replied, despite the blush in his face betraying him.

“What did you say?” Mercedes pressed.

“That you’re going to be a star one day,” Sam admitted. Mercedes smiled softly at him, unable to quell the warm feeling from her stomach.

“This isn’t friendship, Sam,” Mercedes said. “I know friendship when I see and this—”

“You have to stop questioning it,” Sam cut in. “Do you trust me?”

“Hell to the no,” Mercedes replied, though unlike the first time, she was fighting a smile and Sam couldn’t help but feel as if he’d just won a marathon. Neither was quite sure what they’d just both agreed to, but at least they were taking a step further.  Albeit a small step, but one nonetheless.

Sam was ready to reply when he heard the clicking heels of his mother and deep chuckle of his father. Sam and Mercedes quietly and carefully left Senator Jones’ private office, moving towards the lobby door to hear his parent’s discussion.

“See Martha, I told you that I wouldn’t be that long,” Richard Evans was saying, “and we still have time to catch the show.”

“That’s because I told your son to wait by the car to help speed up the process,” Martha replied smartly as they passed Senator Jones’ door. “And we better not miss this show. My threat still stands Richard, besides it would be a real shame after all that hard work if you and your little friend had to spend the night alone of the couch.”

Sam couldn’t fight the shudder of disgust at the reference to his parent’s sex life and he turned to see Mercedes leaning against the wall attempting to conceal her laughter. When the sound of his parents faded into silence, Mercedes was still shaking silently and Sam had a slightly goofy look on his face.

“No comment,” he said aloud.

“You should get down there before they start looking for you,” Mercedes said in between giggles.

“You’re right,” Sam said. “You’ll be okay?”

Mercedes nodded. “I’m on my way out of here. I’ll see you around school Sam and next week we’re starting up your tutoring again okay?”

“Look forward to it,” Sam replied.

“Live Long and Prosper, t’hai’la,” Mercedes said softly.

He turned back quickly raising an eye brow. He’d believed her when she told him that she didn’t know any Vulcan or Klingon. Though she did profess to knowing the series, surely that didn’t mean that she knew he’d told a small fib earlier.

“You too, Mercy,” Sam said weakly before racing to catch up with his parents.

On the other side of town Santana was enjoying her break from football games and high society demands the best way she knew how—at Lace. She didn’t get out to the bar as often as she liked due to the fact that her family enjoyed spending their Friday nights together whenever all four of them were free, but with her father in California on business and her mother and older brother traveling to Florida to visit her Abuela, Santana was free to enjoy her night and maybe even take someone home.

Once she’d gotten inside, Santana let her short black leather number speak for itself as she roamed through the crowd of available women.  What she hadn’t been expected was to recognize any of the girls under the club lights.

Near the edge of the dance floor, with her own short and skin tight dress was Quinn Fabray grinding against an older brunette. Santana Lopez had known for some time now but had never imagined that’d she’d get to witness Princess Qunnie getting her mack on with another girl. Santana set her patented smirk as she approached the ice princess, ready to fry her ass in return for way Quinn had unceremoniously tried to bring her down when she returned to McKinley.

“Well what do we have here,” Santana said pulling Quinn to face her. She’d waited months to have something to permanently put over her captain and in one brief second Quinn Fabray, in true fashion, ruined it.

“Sanny!” the blonde cheerleader cooed as she practically flung herself on Santana’s shoulders.

“This is my friend Sanny,” Quinn slurred to the brunette that she’d been dancing with.

“Have fun with her,” the girl told Santana before disappearing into the crowd and leaving Santana with a very much _drunk_ Quinn Fabray.

“You’re drunk,” Santana spat trying to get the blonde off of her.

“I know that silly,” Quinn giggled. A drunken Quinn was also a handsy Quinn as Santana quickly realized that the blonde’s hands were roaming dangerously close to her ass.

“That’s enough,” Santana grumbled. “You’re not having sex with me Fabray.”

“Why not?” Quinn cooed playfully. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it?”

“What? No!” Santana replied, fighting a light blush. “We’re enemies, we _hate_ each other.”

“Doesn’t mean that I’ve never thought about it,” Quinn said as she leaned forward. “Your ass is almost as nice as Rachel Berry’s.”

“I’m sorry you’re trying to get me into bed by telling me that Rachel Berry has a better ass than _me_?” Santana replied.

“If you’re so upset, then maybe you should prove me wrong,” Quinn giggled moving her hands to grab Santana’s ass and press their bodies together.

Santana bit back a groan as Quinn copped a serious feel. It had been a really long time since she’d had sex, as in before school started and she was the type of girl that was used to getting it from boys whenever she wanted. Her summer had been filled with some lovely ladies but since school started Santana had been working double time to make sure that no one was looking over her shoulder, which created a serious drought. But that didn’t mean that Quinn Fabray was allowed to fill that drought. Not even if she had the fingers of a magician and her breasts felt rather nice pressed up against hers. No. There was no way that she’d let the blonde indulge her into a few more drinks. She wouldn’t keep an eye on her for the rest of the night and she sure as hell wouldn’t share a cab home with Quinn Fabray, and grab a bottle of half empty vodka from her father’s “secret” stash, before taking Quinn into her room.

No, because Santana Lopez was better than that. She hated Quinn Fabray; in fact, she’d hated her since grade school, almost as if she’d been programmed to do so. Because she knew in twenty, thirty years down the road they were bound to sit around at polite political events brag about their success in life, the success of their husbands, of their children. They would eventually become the catty old women who fondly look back at their “prime” days and try to impress upon their children and grandchildren the same ideals that suffocated them as youth.

Simply put, the idea of them being seen at the same bar, let alone Santana taking Quinn home with her was completely ludicrous.  Which is why when Santana woke mid-morning on Saturday to the sight of seemingly naked Quinn Fabray, she couldn’t help but to loudly yell, “Oh Fuck!”


	7. What's Done In The Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there was a bit of a mix up with the document for this update, so this is unedited by the lovely Jill and all complaints about grammar, syntax are completely my fault, so I apologize in advance. I also apologize for the extremely long time it took to update this. I can't promise when the next update will be but maybe if we all cross our fingers it won't be as long as last time. As always thank you for reading!
> 
> Much Love,
> 
> Santiva Potter

Have I mentioned that you're an asshole lately?" Sam asked Blaine as they leaned against Blaine's latest joyride, a rather expensive present from his father that garnered a suspicious lack of enthusiasm, which Blaine brushed off as exhaustion. The pair of them stood outside of a local Kinko's that Blaine had just finished terrorizing with demands.

"And what has brought on this astute conclusion?" Blaine muttered as he continued to scribble furiously in the pen-pal that he kept handy at all times.

"Only assholes treat Kurt Hummel the way you have for the last few weeks," Sam shrugged.

"I tried to help him," Blaine snapped, gaining Sam's attention. "He didn't want it."

"You've been ignoring him ever since he set foot onto Dalton's campus—"

"You asked for a transfer not for me to babysit him," Blaine argued.

"No one said anything about babysitting but acknowledging the presence of others, that's just a human courtesy," Sam threw back.

"Sounds like something that's not my problem," Blaine shrugged.

"Which is why we're working to figure out who trashed Kurt's car," Sam reasoned.

"Speaking of the car, Nick and Jeff apparently didn't get anywhere with the local car dealers," Blaine said frowning slightly.

"I'll ignore the change in subject temporarily to ask why you're frowning now," Sam sighed. "Do you not believe them?"

"I do," Blaine replied. "Nick is after all the one who said that they didn't find anything. If it had been Jeff I would be a bit more concerned."

"That's because Nick can't lie to us worth shit. So what's the problem?" Sam asked.

"You do realize that Karofsky is most likely behind this right?" Blaine reminded Sam. "If they are lying…are you ready for Jeff to be in on that can of worms?"

"So you do think Jeff got Nick to lie?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," Blaine replied, unlocking the car, "but I don't necessarily believe that Jeff didn't find anything either."

"You let me worry about Jeff," Sam said sliding into the passenger's seat. "You just work on fixing things between you and Kurt."

"Why is that of such of concern of yours?" Blaine asked as he roared the engine to life.

Sam gave his childhood friend a long look before replying, "Sometimes I think you forget that you don't just have to be nice to the five of us. Not everyone is out to betray you Blaine."

"I think that's enough from you today Oprah," Blaine replied peeling off of the curb. "You can finish your analysis later."

Sam politely drops the matter but years of dealing with the brunette heir had taught him that often only the smallest seed needed to be planted to bug the shit out of Blaine Anderson. Which is why three days later, Blaine was quite sure that Sam would have been delighted to find him outside of an empty study room—save for one Kurt Hummel.

"Do you mind?" Kurt said pointedly, shifting uncomfortably in the plush academy chairs. A large notebook sat over his legs, which snapped to a stiff position once Kurt had realized he was not alone. Unlike Kurt, Blaine was out of uniform, sporting a dark emerald vest, a fitted grey sweater and washed jeans, the most relaxed outfit Kurt had ever seen him and did him better justice than the vibrant reds and blues of the uniform.

"Actually I do," Blaine replied lightly leaning against the archway, "or don't, whichever one makes you more offended."

"Do they not teach you basic English on the other side?" Kurt huffed.

"They teach it about as well as your lot teaches manners," Blaine replied stepping into the room.

"Excuse me?"

"Has anyone ever told you that starring is rude, and your penchant for it is why polite society deemed it so?" Blaine replied. Kurt's lips pressed into a thin line as the ghost of a smirk flickered across Blaine's face.

"Has anyone ever told you that your bad attitude can be smelled a mile away," Kurt threw back.

"Plenty," Blaine smiled, "though most were kind enough to say it behind my back. Do you mind?"

He gestured to the baby piano, which sat a few feet from Kurt. Exasperated, Kurt rolled his eyes and shrugged.

"Why not, you'd just drive me out with your words anyway," Kurt muttered packing his things.

"If you'd slow down you would realize that request doesn't require for you to leave, Hummel," Blaine replied taking a seat at the piano.

Kurt paused, not bothering to fight the frown on his face. "If this is your attempt of kindness, you're going to have to do better Anderson."

"Sorry, I don't get much nicer than this," Blaine shot Kurt a bitter smile before turning his attention to the keys. The music that filled the room was soft, warming, though Kurt did his best to look indifferent. He did, however, take his time placing his sketch book in his large leather satchel and crossing the room.

"Who taught you how to play?" The words had spilled out of his mouth before Kurt could stop them.

"My mother," Blaine replied still playing as he slid down the bench, an even bolder invitation than earlier.

"Who taught you how to draw?" Blaine asked once Kurt had taken residence on the very edge of the piano seat.

"Who said I was drawing?" Kurt replied. Blaine shot him a look that was oddly reminiscent of Mercedes' reaction anytime he would try to pull the wool over her eyes.

"My mother," Kurt answered. "She was an artist."

"Was?" Blaine asked unleashing his hypnotizing stare.

"Was," Kurt repeated stiffly standing to rise.

"Look Hummel, if you've felt that I've been less than—"

"Welcoming?" Kurt cut in. "Rude? Belligerent? Oh no, the word you're looking for is—"

"I'm sorry," Blaine finished letting the final chords of the etude ring in the room.

Blaine didn't look sarcastic to Kurt's standings, but that certainly didn't mean that he wasn't hiding some alternative agenda.

"What's the catch here?" Kurt snapped.

"You probably won't believe it, but there is no catch," Blaine said. "And the memory will last longer if you take a picture rather than staring at me in disbelief."

"I knew the asshole was still in there somewhere," Kurt sighed.

"He likes to take an occasional break when the mood strikes him, but otherwise you can always count of me to be an incorrigible prick," Blaine chuckled turning back to the piano. "You're welcome to stick around if you want."

Kurt Hummel was tempted, for purely scientific reasoning of course. Blaine Anderson was never kind without an agenda, the last few weeks had proven that and it wasn't often that Kurt had access private piano session by someone more competent than a fifth grade "prodigy". But after Blaine shot him another knowing smile, Kurt Hummel knew that if he didn't get out of that room, he'd end up cozying next to Blaine for the rest of the evening on that piano bench—or worse wishing that he was.

The completely bile reaction from this revelation had Kurt darting out the room caused Kurt and nearly knocking Nick Mega into the marble ground.

"I am so sorry," Kurt apologized, helping his fellow Warbler up.

"No it's okay," Nick replied. "You seem like you're in a hurry."

"I'm sorry. It was just Blaine and that damn piano—"

"I'm sorry—did you just use Blaine and piano in the same sentence?" Nick asked, a bewildered smile crossing his face.

"Um, yes? He's in the study longue playing now."

"Really?" Nick smiled. "That's…man. Blaine hasn't played in a really long time."

"Well, I suppose this is a good thing?" Kurt replied peaking over his shoulder where the music was coming from.

"You never know with Andersons, but I'd wager so," Nick grinned. "I'll see you around Hummel."

With the semester dwindling, Sam found himself busier than ever—the first playoff game was on the horizon, Tanaka was already starting pre-season baseball sessions and while his grade in Calculus had improved, the final was still looming over his shoulder, which is why Mercedes found mercy upon him and offered to do a weekend study session at her house. Mercedes seemed to be in no better of a predicament; she'd vented for nearly thirty minutes about the stress of being president of the Glee club, the school musical, and her own course-load and of course college applications. Though he empathized with her, Sam had to admit that he enjoyed sitting back and listening to her talk. Her voice just had a natural timbre that was soothing. Anyone could just relax as they listen to her ramble about the color of the sky or whether Bryan Ryan was certifiably insane.

"Evans?"

Sam shot up in the passenger seat of Mercedes' car as she suppressed a giggle.

"You really need to get some rest Sam," Mercedes said as she pulled into her driveway. "Your brain needs sleep if you want it to learn new information sufficiently."

"You're starting to sound like my mother," Sam teased as they walked to the front door.

"Well I wouldn't have to if someone would take care of himself," Mercedes sassed letting him inside.

"So how does Senator Jones feel about me being inside his house unsupervised?" Sam grinned wickedly.

"Actually he doesn't know," Mercedes said stiffly. "And neither does Mrs. Jones for that matter. We're going keep today between us."

"Thank you Mercy," Sam said softly. The sincerity in his voice gave Mercedes butterflies in the pit of her stomach, but it was the nickname that made her pause.

"Mercy?" she repeated. "When they're being lazy everyone I know just calls me 'Cedes."

"Well I'm not like everyone you know," Sam replied, a dangerous smirk stretching his face.

"Don't I know it," Mercedes muttered under breath. "Come this way, Sam and we can get started."

Mercedes led him to the kitchen and left him to spread out his work while she grabbed a few snacks. Sam did his best to be attentive while she spoke and lasted a whopping forty minutes before he let his motives wander.

"Can I ask you something?"

"If this is not Calculus related, Sam, so help me God," Mercedes groaned.

"How did you know that singing was something you wanted to pursue?" Sam asked ignoring her protest.

Mercedes leaned back in her chair, a frown setting in to fight off the small smile that threatened to push to the surface. She stayed quite for several minutes and when Sam was sure she would answer, Mercedes replied, "I've just known. Ever since I was a little girl and I saw the way people would react to the way that I would sing, I've just known."

"That answer is rather aloof Mercy," Sam teased.

"Well the question has nothing to do with the matter at hand—"

"Wait a minute, singing involves wave lengths, which involves math….so there!" Sam's face split into a grin as Mercedes rolled her eyes at him.

"I don't you tried at all," Mercedes laughed.

"But I got you to smile," Sam replied, his emerald orbs dancing.

"Sam," Mercedes began.

"Can I ask you something else?" Sam cut in softly.

"Please, let it be how to answer question number 3," Mercedes begged.

"Why did you agree to help me?" Sam asked. He was now leaning towards her, instead of slouched in his chair, and Sam's left hand was edging dangerously close to hers.

"I thought I answered that…"

"No, I don't think you ever did," Sam replied, gently moving his hand to rub soft circles in the back of her right hand. Mercedes did her best to try to ignore the sensation and find a way back into their work but once her eyes drifted towards his, she found her words stuck at the back of her throat.

"Mercy?" Sam pressed softly, taking her hand into his and slowly leaning further across the table.

"I-I—"

"Mercedes!"

The loud booming voice of her father intermixed with her mother's laughter caused both Sam and Mercedes to jump back from the table, their chairs screeching loudly in the kitchen.

"Mercedes!" her father called out again, his tone urgent. She could hear the click of her mother's heels nearing the kitchen and before she could throw Sam into the nearest pantry, Senator and Mrs. Jones entered the room, carrying bags of groceries. Sam, now sharing Mercedes' predicament of a lack of words, stilled under the instant glare of the Jones' family patriarch who had undoubtedly been spending the last twenty-five years despising the existence of nearly everyone in his family—at least.

"Senator and Mrs. Jones, it's a pleasure to see you as always," Sam greeted, his voice fighting to stay steady. "Would you, like some help with those bags Mrs. Jones?"

Sam crossed the room slowly towards Irene Jones, who was still staring at him with perfect shock on her face. The glare William Jones sent Sam's way seemed to intensify with every step he took but just as Sam was face to face with Irene, a bright smile stretched her face and she greeted him warmly.

"Yes, thank you Sam. That's very considerate of you," Mrs. Jones said, handing the bags over. "And please forgive our shock. Mercedes didn't mention that she was bringing guests over today."

Irene Jones sent her daughter a withering look as Sam's back was turned and had a new smile ready once the blonde turned back in their direction.

"How is your family doing?" Irene asked politely as her husband stayed mute at her side.

"They're good," Sam replied. "Working hard."

William Jones grunted in response, which caused his wife to send him a withering glare, but if he saw, the Senator paid the look no mind.

"Mercedes could I please speak to you in the hallway," William Jones ordered.

"If you could just give us one minute," Irene smiled politely after her husband and daughter left the room.

"—hell is he doing here?" William Jones hissed at his daughter as his wife stepped into the hall.

"Yes, sweetheart, what is Sam Evans doing here, especially when there's a no supervision, no boys rule," Irene asked crossing her arms.

"Daddy I want you to take a deep breath and relax, because ultimately it's kind of your fault that he's here," Mercedes began.

"WHAT?"

"You were the one who insisted that become involved with McKinley's tutoring group," Mercedes explained. "Well Sam Evans is my student. I tutor him in Calculus."

"Then why aren't you at a school? Or a library? Why does he have to be in my house?" William Jones pressed.

"We usually only work together during the week," Mercedes explained, "but we've both been busy and I picked Sam up from his practice today and the house was closer than the library."

"So that's all that was going on here, while we were away?" Irene asked pointedly. "Just studying?"

If William Jones' blood pressure was on the decline, his wife managed to instantaneously spike another treacherous rise.

"Mama, are you crazy?" Mercedes groaned, watching the irises of her father's expand. "I would never in this house. And not with him!"

"I'm not so sure about that young lady," Irene continued. "He's a fine young man and there was a mighty amount of blush on his—"

"Mom!"

"This is sounding more like an invitation rather than reprimanding, Irene," William Jones grunted.

"William relax and be civil, the boy is only 17 years old. He's not Richard," Irene said. "And regardless of your intent Mercedes, you know better than to break the rules. We'll discuss this after Sam has left; we've been in this hall for too long as it is. William, since you seem to be incapable of being civil, why don't you head down to your cave and mull over some congressional bills that won't actually change anything on Capitol Hill."

William frowned at his wife before marching back into the kitchen.

"I expect no funny business, Evans," William Jones snapped.

"Yes—Yes sir, of course," Sam replied quickly as Mercedes and her mother slipped into the room.

"William, I'll let you know when dinner is ready," Irene said softly. William nodded stiffly and placed a soft kiss to his wife's head, all whilst still glaring at Sam before exiting the room.

"I am so happy that your brothers are out of the house," Irene sighed. "I don't think I could deal with any extra testosterone. Now Samuel, Mercedes tells me that you're working on Calculus?"

"Yes ma'am," Sam replied standing awkwardly by the sink, "she's been a great tutor."

"Well that's because she's a smart girl," Irene beamed as she made her way to the kitchen cabinets. "She gets it from her mother."

Sam allowed himself to unwind slightly as Mercedes' mother sent him a brilliant smile and her daughter a wink.

"Now Sam, are you staying for dinner?" Irene asked.

"No!" Mercedes cut in. "Uh, Sam has to be leaving soon because he'll miss dinner at his house and um, we wouldn't want Mrs. Evans to be worried. Or here."

Irene Jones turned to look at the two teenagers—her own, who seemed dead set on looking at anything other her blonde companion and Sam who almost looked to be frowning at the youngest member of the Jones family.

"Well since your father went through the last of our aspirin supply, I suppose I'd have to agree with you there," Irene said. "I'm sure you understand, Samuel."

"Of course Mrs. Jones," Sam replied, turning to face the matriarch. "What my mother doesn't know won't kill her."

"I'd be careful with that logic if I were you Sam," Irene replied. "You know what they say about things that are done in the dark."

Sam nodded in response as his eyes trailed back to Mercedes.

There were evidently some things that were better left unsaid. This was something that Santana learned quickly after the first time she kissed a girl—Bethany? Brianna? Brittney?—and something that proved handy in dealing with Quinn Fabray. Though that may also have something to do with the fact that her mouth was usually otherwise occupied around the blonde.

"Oh God," Quinn groaned arching her back against the silk sheets of her bed and gripping Santana's loose locks from between her legs. "Who the fuck taught you that?"

Santana smiled against Quinn's sex before kissing her way up her slim stomach.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she replied huskily.

Despite the unoriginality in the remark, Quinn couldn't fight the small chuckle that escaped. Santana hovered over her, catching her breath as her hair created a curtain around them. Quinn Fabray had a strict kissing rule in regards to Santana. What they did was purely recreational. There was no need to attach feelings to a relationship that would never see the light of day; therefore she had ruled kissing out. Besides, there were more creative ways to get riled up.

"Worn out Fabray?" Santana teased.

"For now," Quinn replied as Santana rolled over.

"Damn Sylvester for nearly working us to death today," Santana said as she stretched out.

"I do not want to talk about Coach Sue," Quinn groaned, sitting up on the bed. "That just makes me think of McKinley and Sam…"

"That's right, Sam Evans is playing the role of Finn Hudson 2.0," Santana remarked.

"Sam is nothing like Finn, who is an asshole with the intelligence of a Neanderthal," Quinn snapped.

"Sounds like the perfect boyfriend," Santana commented, "except you're not into boys."

"Really? I had no idea," Quinn muttered under her breath and she put on a new set of panties. "What are you jealous Lopez?"

"Not a chance," Santana laughed. "I just don't see the point of an act when both of the actors are doing a pretty shitty job of keeping it up."

Quinn turned to respond when she heard the front door of her parent's home open.

"Quinn!" a female voice called out. "Quinn! Are you home?"

"Yes!" Quinn yelled back as she and Santana moved quickly and quietly to put back on their uniforms.

"Quinn, whose car is outside?" the voice called out and louder as footsteps were heard ascending up the stairs

By the time the door to Quinn's room opened, Quinn stood at her dressers, impeccably dressed in her cheerleading uniform with a ponytail atop her head. Santana was likewise dressed, taming her bed hair into a loose ponytail that fell over her shoulders and she sat on the edge of Quinn's bed observing her nails in a bored fashion.

Frannie Fabray, the eldest daughter of Judy and Russell Fabray, stood at the doorway frowning slightly at the sight before her.

"I think we're done arguing over the pyramid layout for today, may I be dismissed your hieghness?" Santana snapped at Quinn.

"Of course, peasant," Quinn replied shooting her a sickly sweet smile.

Santana stood and warned, "This may be your house, but you better watch who you speak to that way, Fabray." Frannie silently moved to let Santana out and stayed silent until she heard the front door close.

"Well, that was an interesting show," Frannie began.

"I don't know what you mean," Quinn sighed turning back to her dresser.

"Of course not," Frannie replied. "Look Mom and Dad are on their way here and they're bringing the Hudson's with them."

"You have got to be kidding me," Quinn groaned.

"Mom didn't sound too happy about it either," Frannie said.

"Dad must be in some kind of pickle to be kissing up to Carole Hudson," Quinn sighed.

"Better Dad kissing up to Carole Hudson than Dad kissing up to a Democrat."

Despite Quinn's best efforts, the way Frannie said that made her pause slightly before she turned to her sister and agreed.

"I suppose you're right. Thanks for the heads up Frannie. Do you mind giving me some space? I don't want to wear my uniform at dinner."

"Of course," Frannie replied. "I'm heading down to set the table for dinner. You know, on my way down I can stop by the bathroom to get you some air-freshener for your room if you'd like. Your room's got an odd smell."

Quinn's eyes didn't waver from her sister's gaze, which seemed to be a slightly challenging and a flicker of pity. In response, Quinn gave Frannie her brightest smile.

"Sure, if you think so."

"You sure were anxious to get rid of Sam Evans tonight," Irene Jones said to her daughter as she passed a bowl of salad to her frowning husband.

"He shouldn't have been here," William Jones said pointedly to his daughter.

"And I've apologized for that," Mercedes said carefully. "I should have said something earlier."

William grunted affirmatively and went back to his meal.

"But you know I'm kind of thankful for Sam Evans," Mercedes said slowly. "He's really helped to influence my future."

"Excuse you?" William Jones replied as his fork collapsed on the table with a loud clamor.

"Only in the sense that through Sam, I've learned how much I enjoy tutoring students and teaching in general—even more than I love music," Mercedes explained pleasantly.

It was now Irene Jones' turn to sit up straight. Her daughter's focus was completely on her father, who was now relaxing for the first time since he stepped in the house.

"Really?" William replied.

"Yep, I just sent out my application for American U last week in hopes of getting into their education department," Mercedes informed them.

Irene wasn't quite sure which was more pathetic, the lies that her daughter told or the fact that her college educated husband was eating them up.

"Well that's great sweetheart, you know you can do anything that you put your mind to and with your grades and talent I'm sure you'll get into whichever school you please," William smiled. "In fact you should come down to the office next week, I can have you talk to Senator Banks. She was an Education graduate from Brown. She may know of some connections to maybe get you in."

"Sure daddy, I'd love that," Mercedes replied.

Unable to take anymore of her daughter's sugary sweet persective on life, Irene interrupted the pair saying, "Mercedes could you come into the kitchen and help me with the dessert please?"

Her daughter was silent as they walked in and Irene pulled out the thick pan of peach cobbler from the cooling rack.

"I hope you don't count me as a fool Mercedes," Irene said solemly.

"I don't know what you're talking about Mom," Mercedes replied, attempting an innocent act of not making eye contact.

Irene nodded knowingly as she place the pan in her daughter's waiting hands.

"Whatever you're planning, my little Education major," Irene said as she made her way to the door, "don't hurt your father too badly."

Her daughter may have learned discretion from her, but Irene didn't miss her daughter mutter, "No promises" as they walked back to the table.

As night began to pass over the metropolitan Nick Mega, dressed in a light black trench coat, walked through the streets of D.C. with his cell phone pressed against his ear.

"Tell me you're on your way," Jeff Sterling said through the line.

"I'm about a block away," Nick replied. "What is so damn important that you had to get me out of dinner with my parents?"

"I know where to find the person who wrecked Kurt's car," Jeff said.

"Wait, what? You told me to tell Blaine that you didn't find anything," Nick snapped.

"Which was true then, but now I have something. I need you to meet me at Copper and Copeland. We can walk from there to our destination. It's only a block away."

"Who was the guy?" Nick pressed as his stomach turned into knots.

"You won't believe it until you see it but the license plate was registered for Paul Karofsky. Hurry your ass up so we can get to digging!"

Nick ended the call and made his way more forcefully through the throngs of people. Before making the left turn to Copper Street, he made a quick turn into what he hoped to be an upscale bar. He zoned in on the first male waiter he saw and picked a $50 from his wallet.

"Excuse me," Nick said softly slipping Ulysses Grant into the waiter's pocket, "my friend recommended a bar that's not too far from here on Copper and Copeland Street but I can't remember the name of the place. Do you know of anything in that area?"

"No sorry," the man replied stiffly.

"You sure?" Nick asked, adding a $20. "My friend, he's not too fond of female persuasion but he promised me that I'd have a good time."

The waiter nodded politely at one of his co-workers before answering quietly, "There is Scotty's, which is about a block away from Copper and Copeland but if you're fond of the female persuasion, I can't see you enjoying yourself very much sir."

"Thank you for your time," Nick said before excusing himself.

As he stepped back into the chill air, Nick pulled his phone back out to dial Sam. It went straight to voicemail.

"If you don't want Jeff to figure out everything then I suggest you get your ass to Scotty's immediately."


	8. Don't Rain on My Parade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I have to give a shout out to the lovely Jill for beta reading! Hope you enjoy!

For the first time in weeks, Dave Karofsky was letting loose. He wasn’t bouncing off the walls like most of the underage party-goers that used barely believable fakes to slip into Scotty’s, but Dave couldn’t be more at peace with a Corona in his right hand and the company of Jack Anders on his left.

“Uh babe?” Jack said hesitantly, looking past him.

Dave turned to see the manager of the club, a small bald headed man named Smitty, signaling for him. Dave shot Jack an easy smile before rising from his seat at the bar. Smitty had met Dave when he was just a stupid kid. He’d kicked Dave out a handful of times but in the last year had turned into a better protector and nurturer than Paul Karofsky could dream of. Not that Paul Karofsky’s dreams contained more than a prime view of the Front Lawn on Pennsylvania Avenue. But Presidents don’t have gay sons and honestly, it was better that way.

“What’s going on Smitt?” Dave asked as he approached the older man.

“There’s someone here to see you Dave,” Smitty replied cautiously. “Follow me.”

As Smitty led him up the stairs, Dave scanned the crowd below looking for any dreaded familiar faces—and here, every familiar face was a dreaded one.

“Now you know the rules David,” Smitty said as they reached their destination, a thick and rusted black door that lead to an empty supply room. “Leave the room the way you found it.”

Dave pushed the door open to meet a pair of cold green eyes and clenched his fists.

“Don’t worry Smitty, this won’t take long,” Dave growled as Smitty left him alone with Sam Evans.

“I get that I don’t deserve the pomp and circumstance,” Sam began, “but if your fist attempts to connect with my face, it’ll be a lot more hellish for you than me.”

“Cut the crap Evans,” Dave spat. “What the hell do you want?”

“You need to cut the night short,” Sam replied bluntly.

“Oh what are you my mother now, asshole?” Dave snarled as space disappeared between them. “I don’t take order from sacks of shit like you. All it’s ever done…”

“Is save your ass,” Sam cut in, stepping toe to toe with Dave. “Unless you wanted your friend Jack to be the talk of the town. I can still make that happen if you’d like.”

“Fuck you Evans,” Dave roared. “I dare you to and I’ll expose that whore mother of…”

Dave’s threat was cut off as Sam pushed him against the nearest concrete wall. Fortunately for Dave, Sam’s mass was easy to throw off and plummet into the ground with his fist. Unfortunately for Dave, Sam’s agility and quick feet had him back up and throwing a punch of his own across Dave’s jaw.

“If I wanted your secret exposed then I wouldn’t be here, would I asshole?” Sam hissed as he wiped blood from his chin.

“Who the hell did you tell?” Dave growled, glaring at Sam.

“No one,” Sam answered. “And I have it handled, but you need to leave— _now_.”

“It better stay that way Evans,” Dave warned as he shifted towards the door, “because if I go down, I will drag you down with me. All of you.”

Sam refrained from rolling his eyes until David had left the room and pulled out his cellphone to dial Nick. It went straight to voicemail.

“I got it handled,” Sam sighed as he leaned against the door, “but I’d keep a close watch on the Boy Wonder.”

Downstairs, Dave aggressively pushed through several people to make his way back to Jack, whose eyes instantly went to the bruise on this cheek.

“What the hell happened to your face?” Jack asked.

“It’s nothing,” Dave replied stiffly. “Let’s head out of here, yeah?”

Jack threw down a twenty for his beer and followed Dave out. Neither noticed the blonde waitress who had been pushed to the side in Dave’s exit. She adjusted her beer-stained blouse, thanks to the pretentious teenager, and muttered threats to herself as she approached one of the customers waiting for his drink.

“He is such an asshole,” the waitress huffed as she passed a beer to a blonde male patron.  

“Who is this now?” Jeff Sterling said sipping on his beer and holding on to another one for Jeff, who’d left to use the bathroom.

“Just this regular who thinks he can just toss anyone around when he’s pissy,” the waitress replied. “I swear that Dave Karofksy kid will be the death of me.”

Jeff shot the waitress, who was beautiful in her own right, a seductive smile. “Well, he sounds like a douche and a pretty girl like you shouldn’t worry about someone like him.”

“You’re not like the others are you?” the waitress said smiling back.

“Gay? No, but don’t tell anyone,” Jeff teased. “It’s a secret.”

As December and the holiday festivities dawned upon the Capital, the elites of McKinley Preparatory, Dalton Academy for Boys, and Leighmiester School for Girls prepared themselves for an evening of pomp and circumstance on the Botany Lake House property owned by a Virginia Senator who had his upbringing on the Hill. Most of the mothers jumped at the opportunity to show off their daughters and their spouses would never dare object to the idea of having an empty house. Even the Jones’ had pushed their children to the event year after year and Mercedes knew that if she didn’t make her way downstairs in the next hour, there would be hell to pay. Irene would make sure of it.

She sat on sea of purple that covered her bed looking languidly at the array of dresses that hung in the closet before her. Groaning, she pushed back into the pillows that easily covered half of her bed, hoping to sink out of view. The problem with the Winter Social was that it was always too close to Regionals and as captain of the Glee club Mercedes hadn’t been able to get the voices of Rachel Berry and Ryan Bryan alike out of her head. To add insult to injury, there was of course the secretary from NYADA who continued to insist that there was nothing they could do about her application and that she was free to audition for the spring semester if she chose. There was also Shane, whose pitied looks had increased to the point of distraction. Mercedes highly doubted she’d be able to make it far into the New Year without another confrontation with her ex. Worst of all, however was Sam. Sam freaking Evans, who despite his familial charm, had made quite the impression on her mother. The same woman who was of course, highly suspicious of how quick Mercedes had been to get rid of the blonde. Thankfully, William Jones had banned any and all talks of Evans and politics from the table that night.

Mercedes needed a break. She was only asking for a little breather. Perhaps some ice-cream and an 80s chick flick with Santana. She would normally opt for Kurt, especially since the chances of Santana agreeing to sit through _The Breakfast Club_ were slim to none, but he’d been so busy with the Warblers and Jesse St. James’ fashion troupe that she rarely got to see him.

“Mercedes!” Irene Jones called from below. “Your date is here!”

The youngest of the Jones family shot up on her bed. If she ever made it out of her room, Mercedes had planned to go to the Winter Formal alone, meet up with San and Wade, do a few dances and slip out unseen. She didn’t want a plus one and she couldn’t imagine who would—oh yes she could. Mercedes threw herself off of her bed ready to rip her ex-boyfriend apart when her door opened to reveal her slim, fashion guru of a best friend standing with an apologetic smile and a large hang-up bag.

“My date?” Mercedes asked trying her best to look indifferent, even if her small smile was betraying her.

“Only if you’ll have me,” Kurt replied. “I know I’ve been crazy busy with Dalton and I haven’t been around but I brought you something that I _know_ you’ll love. And a corsage of course! After all, every true gentleman must bring a corsage for the lovely lady.”

“Kurt, get in here!” Mercedes smiled as he rushed in. “Now what is in that bag?”

“Oh, Jesse St. James inaccurately thought that one of my designs was beautiful but wouldn’t fit well on anyone above a size two, so I decided that I was going to prove him wrong,” Kurt beamed.

“You’re going to turn me into a Barbie doll, aren’t you?” Mercedes replied shaking her head.

“Only the prettiest Barbie doll this town has ever seen,” Kurt proclaimed, unzipping the garment bag. “Now off with those clothes Ms. Jones! I have magic to make!”

On the night of the Winter Formal, Sam stood in his living room, his jaw stuck in a smile as camera lights flashed obnoxiously throughout the room.

“How many more of these do we have?” Blaine muttered under his breath as Wes’ mother took another group of the six boys and their dates. Blaine was the only one going stag for the evening, as he refused to bother with any of the “dimwits from Leighmiester or the elitists from McKinley.” Even Sam had rolled his eyes at that. Jeff, of all people, had a cheerleader from McKinley as a date, which would soon prove to be irrelevant. The minute Jeff Sterling stepped through doors at the Botany Gardens he would be fair game all over again. Wes’ choice was the daughter of a diplomat from Jamaica, whom his family had known for years. Nick had brought the secondhand “Queen Bee” from Leighmiester who spent most of the evening glaring at Quinn, who hung effortlessly off of Sam’s arm and David had invited one of the more levelheaded girls from Leighmiester.

“Quit complaining Blaine,” Martha replied as she held a phone to her ear—she was still trying to wrangle up a last minute date for Blaine.

“This is the last time the six of you will be together for the Formal,” David’s mother cooed. “Can we please get at least one picture with you all smiling?”

Blaine outwardly rolled his eyes, which caused Wes to slap the back of his head. The Anderson heir was more than ready to retort but one glare from Martha Evans had him playing nice again—and yes, even smiling.

“See! Completely painless,” Wes’ mother, Abigail smiled.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Blaine muttered, glaring at her son, who smiled back.

“We should probably get going,” Quinn said, frowning slightly at Blaine’s temper. “We can’t be too late.”

“Quinn’s right,” Sam said, a phrase that would have cause Sam to gag probably six months ago, but she had be surprisingly level headed, and dare he say sweet tonight and for the past several weeks. Sam wasn’t sure what the change was, but he didn’t mind it at all. Though that didn’t help the fact that she was still not even close to what he wanted. Ever since the Jones’ had walked in on his tutoring session with Mercedes and he had been so _kindly_ dismissed by the young and flustered Jones, Sam had come to terms that his agitation over the situation stemmed directly from wanting to be there with her. Wanting to listen to her sing constantly, to be in her presence, to just lounge on her couch on a lazy Saturday afternoon and watch movies while her parents went about their business. And even if that world could ever exist, Sam’s brain knew that it wouldn’t be today, tomorrow or next year—his heart was still working on it.

Mercedes never made that easy for him of course, especially not when he watched her walk into the Botany Gardens later that evening with an iridescent, chiffon dress that flowed effortlessly from the waist down, while her tight sweetheart neckline emphasized one of the _many_ great traits of Mercedes Jones.

“Where did she get that dress?” Quinn huffed, a tint of jealously betraying her voice as Sam spun them around the dance floor. “I mean, it looks like a knock off.”

Sam bit back a sharp retort before replying, “She looks pretty.”

“A five year old looks pretty,” Quinn replied, snaking her arms around Sam’s neck. “And who wants to be pretty when you can look gorgeous?”

She shot him a dazzling smile and Sam looked down to take in her emerald mermaid styled dress again before gently removing himself.

“I think I’m going to go get us some drinks.”

“Well shit Mercedes, I think I’m going have to get in line in order to break me off a piece of that!” Santana teased as she approached Mercedes and Kurt near the doors.

“Shut up girl,” Mercedes replied pulling her in for a hug.

“Now Hummel, I will fax over my specifications for my prom dress first thing tomorrow morning,” Santana said turning to Kurt.

“We can talk, Satan,” Kurt teased. “Though I’m not sure you’ll need it. You look stunning in red.”

“Why thank you,” Santana replied giving them a twirl for show.

“And that’s the last time we compliment you!” Mercedes laughed. “So when is the appropriate time to leave again?”

“Mercedes we just got here,” Kurt ribbed. “Try to enjoy the party a little. Rub elbows with someone you don’t know!”

“We went to elementary school with all these people, Kurt,” Mercedes deadpanned. “There isn’t a single person in this room that I already don’t know. This is why I can’t wait to get out of DC”

“And damn I’m going be sad when you leave.”

The trio turned to see Jeff Sterling approaching them with a slick grin on his face.

“You know Ms. Jones,” Jeff began appraising her dress as Santana rolled her eyes, “the last time we saw each other, you still had a boyfriend. Word on the street says that’s not the case anymore.”

“Okay you can rub elbows with anyone in this room except him,” Kurt amended. “Anyone else.”

“Hummel, you wound me,” Jeff mocked sipping on his spiked punch.

“Sterling, where is your date,” Mercedes sighed.

“I think I lost her, Jones,” Jeff replied. “Maybe you can help me find her. We could always start upstairs…”

“Oh dear God!” Mercedes laughed. “Is that really the best you’ve got?”

“Of course not,” Jeff grinned. “I just wanted to get a pretty girl like to smile for me. But now that I’ve got your attention, why don’t we head upstairs, that way I can personally show you all that I’ve got.”

Before Mercedes could answer, Sam’s stiff grasp appeared on Jeff’s shoulder as he stepped into the conversation.

“That’s great Jeff, and then the rest of us can watch Shane Tinsley actually try to beat you into the ground,” Sam said. “And this time I will not be getting in his way.”

“Shane has no right,” Mercedes snapped shooting Sam a hard look.

“Yeah, you heard the lady,” Jeff said. “Maybe she wants to go upstairs with me.”

“No in your dreams Sterling,” Mercedes replied. “Go find your date. You two have a good night.”

“Wait! Mercedes,” Sam called out as the trio set to leave. As Mercedes raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue, Sam found himself losing his words. “I-I uh, Quinn wanted to know where you got your dress. She said it was—it was pretty.”

While Jeff and Santana looked as if someone had informed them that the world was flat and Sam fought down his own blush, Kurt stepped in smoothly to reply, “I did and you can let Queen Fabray know that hell will freeze over before I make her a dress half as _pretty_ as this one.”

“What the hell was _that_?” Santana hissed as Kurt dragged them away. Mercedes just shook her head as she made her way to the punch table. This was clearly going to be a long night.

Upstairs, Quinn Fabray had found herself dealing with her own long night. Jeff’s date and damn it one of her _own_ cheerleaders sat on the bed in one of the many guest bedrooms, attempting to drown herself in her own tears after being abandoned by Jeff and his womanizing manners downstairs.

“I mean _he asked me_ ,” she said between large gasps and heaving shoulders. “I thought—I thought he wanted to _be_ with me.”

Wes’ date, whom Quinn had learned to be named Cassandra, rolled her eyes dramatically while the girl continued to sob.

“I’ll go get her some more tissues,” Cassandra sighed leaving Quinn, her flat tone signaling that she was bound to do just the opposite.

Quinn stood over the younger girl patting her back lightly, still wondering how she had gotten herself wrapped up in this mess.

“You know what, I’m going to do you a favor,” Quinn announced eyeing the door.

“Please, don’t leave me alone here,” the girl hiccupped.

“Oh no I would never,” Quinn said sweetly, “but I know just the trick to get Jeff back on your arm, which is what you want right?”

As the girl nodded meekly, Quinn’s smile grew.

“Exactly. So just sit tight and I’ll be right back.”

When she left the room, Quinn made straight for the steps, ready to head back downstairs to have a few words with her doting boyfriend, when a firm, smooth grip pulled her into one of the guest bedrooms.

“What the _hell_ Santana?” Quinn hissed when the door closed.

“You don’t look half bad,” Santana smirked, running her fingers lightly against the sequined corset of Quinn’s dress.

“Are you kidding me?” Quinn snipped. “ _Here?_ Are you crazy, while Sam is—”

“—downstairs enjoying himself with the rest of the Players’ Club,” Santana replied as she locked the door. “Live a little Fabray.”

Downstairs Mercedes and Kurt stood together at the edge of the dance floor giggling like toddlers as Kurt recalled his latest trip to see his great aunt.

“And she told me—” Kurt let his words die as Shane Tinsley approached the pair with a hopeful look on his face. It took all of the home-training that Irene Jones had instilled in her daughter to keep Mercedes from rolling her eyes.

“Mercedes, Kurt,” Shane greeted. “You look beautiful and handsome.”

“Why thank you Shane,” Kurt said. “You know I’m feeling a little thirsty. I think I’m going to get another drink.”

“Kurt,” Mercedes hissed.

“Oh don’t worry, I’ll get you another too ‘Cedes,” Kurt said sweetly while shooting her a pointed look before disappearing.

“Hi ‘Cedes,” Shane said softly when they were alone. “Do you mind if we talk outside?”

Not interested in dealing with prying ears, Mercedes allowed Shane to lead to the back porch which looked out to manmade lake on the Botany property.

“I’ve been thinking for the last few weeks about the best way to apologize to you and Kurt,” Shane started, “and I know that my words won’t mean much without action but Mercedes—I can’t tell you what it’s like to be without two of the most important people in my life.”

“Two, huh?” Mercedes doubted.

“In this town, ‘Cedes anyone who can tell you the truth because they actually care about you and not whatever agenda they have behind them is someone who is important to me. I know I didn’t behave that way, but Kurt’s friendship _is_ important to me. And I will do whatever it takes to prove that to both of you.”

Mercedes looked up at her ex-boyfriend. She couldn’t doubt the confidence in his eyes, the same confidence that she’d seen create realities countless times.

“I believe you Shane,” Mercedes said after a moment of silence, “but I’m just not ready to get back into a relationship with you.”

“And I understand that,” Shane said quickly.  “Relationships are built on trust and respect, which takes time. I know that ‘Cedes and I know that you’re _worth_ taking that time.”

Mercedes could feel her tongue going dry as Shane continued to go on.

“And I don’t mean to push all of this on you at once but I just want you know that I’m not giving up on us,” he said. “You never know what the future holds five, ten years from now.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Mercedes could see the back of Sam’s silhouette leaning against one of the glass door that led to the back porch. “You’re right Shane; you never know. And thank you, your words do mean a lot, but could you do me a favor?”

“Yeah, anything. Just name it ‘Cedes.”

“Can you check up on Kurt and that drink for me?” Mercedes asked. His smile deflated a little, but Shane nodded nonetheless and stepped back inside. After his exit, Mercedes took to the stairs that led to the bank of the lake to clear her head.

“Escaping from the noise?”

Mercedes nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Sam’s voice, but didn’t turn to face him until he stood next to her.

“Actually, yes and you’re not exactly helping,” Mercedes groaned.

“Well then, let me be more helpful,” Sam replied slipping his fingers in between hers and leading them further into the darkness. They circled the bank of the lake until the trees shrouded them from the party behind them and Sam stopped them when they reached a pair of wooden row boats.

“I am not getting in that water with you, Sam Evans!” Mercedes told him.

“I promise you won’t get wet,” Sam said shooting her one of his infamous smiles. He stepped in first and then reached a hand out of her, which she eyed heavily before taking his invitation. Mercedes wasn’t sure how often Sam had done this but, he was good about staying under the protection of the trees that bowed over the edges of the lake as they enjoyed the night in silence.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Sam told her.

“Is that what you think or what _Quinn_ thinks?” Mercedes threw back at him.

Sam stopped rowing to give her a pointed look. “What was I supposed to say?”

“Nothing Sam, you were supposed to say absolutely nothing to me.”

“Now we can’t civil in public?”

“Not when you can’t stop with the compliments.”

“You love my compliments,” Sam taunted.

Mercedes mustered the last of her strength to fight a small smile. “I do,” she conceded, “but you want to get out of DC just as badly as I do, which is why we can’t.”

“Or it could be more reason why we can,” Sam countered leaning closer to her.

Mercedes didn’t let herself notice before, but under the moonlight she couldn’t deny how handsome Sam looked in his tux and as his hand came to gently cup her cheek she was assaulted with his cologne that would have been too much on any other boy.

“Mercy, say something,” Sam said softly as his forehead rested gently against hers, his lips just out of reach.

Their moment, however, was interrupted by a concentrated flash of light. It was small, but bright enough for them both to know that someone was walking the banks of the lake, possibly looking for one of them, or worse both of them. Both teens jumped back to their end of the row boat, causing it to shake until Sam’s grip steadied them in the water again. He looked poised to say something, perhaps apologize, but one glare from Mercedes kept him quiet as they rowed back to the shore. As they reached the bank, Mercedes felt her shoulders sag in relief as she recognized the slim figure waiting for them.

Kurt Hummel stood with a flashlight in one hand, two drinks in his other and a grin big enough to split his face.

“Glad to see that you brought her back in one piece,” Kurt teased. “I was sent out here to fetch the lovely maiden because Santana said that now would be an appropriate time to dip out if we wanted. That and Quinn is on the warpath looking for you, Sam.”

“Thanks Kurt,” Sam said as he helped Mercedes out of the rowboat. “I should probably get back inside. I’ll see you two later.”

“You have fun?” Kurt asked as he watched Mercedes down her drink.

“I can’t do this,” Mercedes said to him.

“It is an interesting dilemma,” Kurt agreed looping an arm with hers, “one that I do not wish to ever deal with.”

“Not helping Kurt.”

“Sorry, okay so there’s the Blondie who likes to moonlight as Superman and Shane Tinsley whom you’ve known since kindergarten flaws and all,” Kurt began. “There is a certain appeal to a fresh new face but, and correct me if I’m wrong, hasn’t Sam been playing the Knight in Shining armor card for a while now? It makes him seem too idealistic. Shane doesn’t hide his flaws—”

“He doesn’t hide most of them,” Mercedes corrected.

“But at least you know what you’re getting in that relationship,” Kurt reasoned. “Though sometimes what you get isn’t always what you want or what you need.”

“You couldn’t just tell me which one to date could you?” Mercedes whined.

“Sorry sweetie, but you’re going to have to figure out that puzzle all on your own,” Kurt replied. “But there is one puzzle that I can give you the answer to.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“The New Directions is going to have to give up that shiny little trophy come Saturday at Sectionals,” Kurt teased.

“Oh sweetheart,” Mercedes replied solemnly, “I hate to rain on your parade, but I am _never_ going to let that happen.”

In the end, it wouldn’t be the Warblers attempting to rain on The New Direction’s parade at Regionals, but instead the three other show choirs in their region that had lifted their set list. Bryan Ryan had turned purple halfway through the second group’s rendition of “Don’t Stop Believing” and had caused such a ruckus that the officials had to escort him out during the intermission. Which left the New Directions with not only a set list but also a director, and Mercedes’ with a high strung Rachel Berry.

“We’re going to lose. I can’t believe that we’re going to lose!” Rachel exclaimed amidst the frantic atmosphere in the New Directions waiting room, and it was the last test of Mercedes’ nerve.

“Enough!”

The room stilled under her voice and nothing, save for the click of her heels could be heard as she strutted across the room and turned off the intercom feed that currently played the Jane Adams Academy’s rendition of “And I Am Telling You”. Mercedes scanned the room before locking eyes with Santana, who she had roped into joining after their impromptu sing-off in the Jones’ living room weeks ago. Santana Lopez was also the only one in the room who stood calmly.

“So what’s the plan, boss lady?” Santana asked.

“Wait a minute,” Rachel interrupted. “I think there should be a—”

“Rachel, I’m the captain,” Mercedes snapped. “Right now that means I talk, then you talk. Artie I want you to take all of the boys and get the bass and tenor lines down for a song that everyone knows. Nothing too complicated, we don’t have a lot of time to put this together but we damn sure have the talent to do it. Santana, you will take the girls and teach them “River Deep, Mountain High”—”

“ _Now wait a minute_ —”

“Rachel Berry if you even THINK about setting your mouth to disagree, I will cut the duet that you and are going to lead with right here, right now,” Mercedes threatened. “Santana don’t take too long with the Tina Turner, you and I will lead it. Tina, help Santana with the arrangement. When you’re done double back with Artie and follow his direction. Rachel, come with me so that we can inform Brad of the changes.”

As Mercedes left the room, Rachel quickly made her way to her side and asked hotly, “So, _O Fearless Leader_ , what did you have in mind?”

“Berry,” Mercedes warned stopping in full strut to threaten the younger girl. “Today is not the day and I am not the one. Are we clear?”

When Rachel nodded meekly, Mercedes put on her best smile and said, “Now, I’m sure that you’ve heard of a little musical called RENT…”

Backstage, Kurt Hummel was fuming as he talked the ear off of any official who would listen about The New Directions’ stolen set list.

“Kurt, what the hell are you doing?” Sebastian Smythe hissed, pulling Kurt back. “Let McKinley deal with their own problems. We have a real shot at the top here.”

“I’m not going to condone cheating, Sebastian!” Kurt hissed pulling his arm out of Sebastian’s grip.

“Is there a problem here?”

Both boys turned to see Blaine Anderson lurking in the shadows with a frown set on his face.

“Sorry Blaine but since you’re not a member of the Warblers this is officially none of your business,” Sebastian quipped before turning to glare back at Kurt. “And you need to get to your set position.”

“I hate to say it, but you should probably listen to him,” Blaine said after Sebastian stormed off.

“I’m not afraid of him and I know what I’m doing, thanks,” Kurt snapped. “What are you even doing here anyway, Anderson? Are you lost or something?”

“Perhaps I am,” Blaine replied venom slipping into his voice as he brushed past Kurt. “Break a leg, Hummel.”

Blaine’s foul mood was only tempted by Wes, David and Sam’s questioning looks once he returned to his seat.

“ _What_?” Blaine snapped.

“You know, it was YOUR idea to come to this sham,” Wes began. “I mean supporting Jeff and Nick is one thing, but you _dragged_ us out here and now we have to deal with a pissy Blaine because someone upset you while you disappeared backstage?”

“You act like I kidnapped you,” Blaine snipped.

“I was still in my pajamas when you kicked my door open,” David said.

“Guys let’s not,” Sam said cutting up Blaine’s next retort. “We’re all here and we’re _all_ going to do our best to enjoy the performances and support our friends.”

The three boys around Sam muttered under their breaths before returning their focus back to the stage where the Warblers were set to begin. While show choir was definitely not his thing, Sam couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy the performance, but he couldn’t fight the way his voice caught slightly at witnessing Mercedes and Rachel strut down their aisle as they began their duet.

“Well your girl can sing,” Blaine said under his breath watching the two girls take over the stage.

“She’s not my girl,” Sam whispered back.

“That’s right,” Blaine nodded as he joined the crowd in clapping. “You’re dating Quinn Fabray.”

Sam decided against reaching over to strangle his best friend.

After the New Directions’ set, there was a fifteen intermission for a judge’s break, which Sam used to make a run to the bathroom. On his way back to his seat, he spotted the red skirts of the New Direction girls and waited until he found her. It only took one quick discreet look to lure her away from the group, but Mercedes Jones had a look of no nonsense by the time she reached Sam.

“I _really_ don’t have time for this right now, Sam.”

“I just wanted to tell you that you sounded amazing out there,” Sam said resting his hands on her bare shoulders. He couldn’t fight the smile as she relaxed under his touch but had to chant in his mind to keep an acceptable distance between them.

“Thank you Sam. I appreciate that, especially with the way this day has started. Bryan Ryan got escorted out so I’m now in charge of everyone—”

“And I can’t imagine a better leader,” Sam said smiling brightly at her. “Or a better singer.”

He had expected a small smile from her, a tease to tell him that she accepted and appreciated his praise, but instead Mercedes looked up at him and said plainly, “Sam, I can’t do this. It’s not fair to you or me, especially while you’re still with Quinn Fabray—”

“Wait, is _that_ the catch here?” Sam interrupted.

“Mercedes?” Tina’s voice sounded close to rounding the corner, so Mercedes shot Sam her best attempt a firm look for darting around the corner to go back to her group. Sam groaned and turned around to make his way back to the auditorium. As he rounded the corner, Sam aimlessly passed by someone leaning against the concrete wall, who didn’t bother stopping him until he said, “I can help you with your Quinn Fabray problem. Or should I say, Mercedes Jones problem.”

Sam feet froze against the tile as his body turned to face Jeff Sterling.

“What did you just say?”

“You heard me Sam,” Jeff said with a slick smile.

“No,” Sam frowned. “I don’t think I did.”

“Are we really going to play this game?” Jeff asked. “Especially after Winter Formal? I think we both know how it ends. How about we just skip to the part where you ask what I want in exchange for helping your Quinn Fabray problem.”

“Alright,” Sam said after a moment, “say I _do_ have a Quinn Fabray problem…”

“I’m sick of the shit, Sam,” Jeff said plainly.

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“You and Blaine are hiding something. Something big, something that started with Kurt’s transfer and snow balled with his dad’s cheating scandal—”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Sam said.

“See that’s the problem,” Jeff argued. “We’re all supposed to be “best friends,” but we keep these secrets from each other. You’re letting him keep this secret from us. Blaine knows _something._ It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. Ever since he walked out of that party after the rivalry game, he’s changed and his bullshit has gone on long enough. If you want a fix to your Quinn Fabray problem and a free pass to your Cinderella, then I suggest you start cracking the vault that is Blaine Anderson.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Well then, I hope you don’t mind playing someone else’s bitch for the rest of the year while another dude gets to play Prince Charming. Here’s a hint, he’s taller than, at least a good 75 pounds—”

“Fuck you Jeff,” Sam snapped, turning from him to head back to his seat.

Jeff’s response, “suit yourself” hung over Sam’s head as he re-entered the auditorium. Wes and David were quick to pick up on his mood swing, which prompted David to ask if he and Blaine were PMSing together. The glare that the two boys sent Makin Jr.’s way was enough to keep him quiet for the rest of the night.

When the groups were brought back on the stage, Mercedes could barely hear anything besides the pounding in her ears as the judges announced third place and fourth place. When three groups were left on the stage, Mercedes allowed herself to revel slightly in the fact that The Warbles and The New Directions were still left, but when neither group was announced for second, Mercedes felt the pit in her stomach deepen. After the last few weeks, losing her shot at NYADA, Bryan Ryan’s pressure for first place and having to take over without a director, Mercedes had never wanted that damn Sectionals trophy so badly in her life. Santana, who stood on her left, gave her hand an extra squeeze.

“And first place goes to The Dalton Academy Warblers—”

The thunder that rang in her ears was sickening and all Mercedes wanted was for the floor to open up for a quick exit until she realized that the announcer wasn’t finished.

“—and the McKinley New Directions. That’s right ladies and gentleman, we have a tie!”

A tie.

It wasn’t exactly what she wanted, but Mercedes could be okay with a tie for first. Especially when she caught the scowl that grew on Sebastian Symthe’s face. Since the New Directions were closer, the judges handed the trophy to Mercedes, however being the polite young lady that Irene Jones had nurtured, Mercedes walked over to the Warbler’s captain and said sweetly, “Why don’t you all take the trophy home with you. I know that glass case over there is getting overrun with all that dust and frankly this is the last trophy that you will get for the rest of the season, so I figured that you should enjoy it.”

Mercedes blew Kurt a quick kiss before heading back over to her group. Tina was the first to reach her, hugging and crying all at the same time while Rachel thrust a small silver cell phone in her hands.

“Mercedes—Mercedes!” Bryan Ryan shouted from the other end.

“We tied,” Mercedes told him. “We’re going to Regionals.”

“You _tied_? What was the set list? Did you let Rachel sing a solo?”

“No and we didn’t need it—”

“But you _tied_ ,” Ryan stressed.

“We’re going to Regionals. I already informed the Warblers that this would be the last trophy they ever get from us, so how about we leave it there before we get to the fact that I had to lead a group without a _director_ ,” Mercedes snapped before closing the phone and thrusting it back into Rachel’s waiting hands.

“Why did you do it?” Rachel asked as they exited the stage. “You could have just made me sway in the background like Tina or—”

“Why did I let you have a moment to shine when I know damn well that you wouldn’t have offered me the same opportunity?” Mercedes clarified. “When I’m damn sure that you had your hands in my NYADA application one way or another? Because I’m not ignorant enough to let my personal dissatisfaction with your attitude keep us from getting to where we need to be. You’re talented Rachel; no one can ever deny you of that, but if you keep that attitude of yours up you won’t reach even the precipice of your dreams. I may not like you Rachel Berry, but I know how to use your voice to this group’s benefits. _That’s_ why I’m the leader.”

Rachel pursed her lips into a frown but nodded as their teammates celebrated around them.

“Oh and Rachel,” Mercedes added before the brunette disappeared to find her fathers, “do know that my favors aren’t free. And they aren’t cheap either.”

Rachel paled slightly, but with a win on Mercedes’ shoulders she couldn’t find a single care to give.

“Damn chica,” Santana laughed as she threw one arm over Mercedes’ shoulder, “I love watching people put Berry in her place.”

The good mood that came from placing at Sectionals followed Santana Lopez to Quinn Fabray’s door. The Fabrays were out again and Quinn, who hadn’t been expecting any guests, answered the door still in her pajamas.

“Flannel’s a good look on you,” Santana teased.

“You have got to stop coming around unannounced,” Quinn sighed as she let Santana in.

“Oh please you love it,” Santana threw back. “Plus I come bearing gifts.”

“Gifts?” Quinn asked. “That’s not—I mean—I don’t do gifts.”

“I’m sorry; Ms. I-had-twenty-seven-birthday-presents-last-year doesn’t do gifts?” Santana scoffed.

“They weren’t _that_ many. Besides, gifts are…they’re a girlfriend thing. And we’re **not** girlfriends.”

“I know that,” Santana said hotly. “This doesn’t have to be a girlfriend _girlfriend_ thing—”

“I don’t want it to be a girlfriend singular thing,” Quinn huffed. “Just get rid of it okay? I don’t want your gift.”

“It’s a fucking bracelet Fabray, I don’t think it’s going to kill you,” Santana snapped.

“You never know!” Quinn threw back. “I’ve seen you blue devils do—”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Santana exclaimed as Quinn caught herself. Silence hung uncomfortably in the room, but Santana was quick to expel it.

“Oh what now, you don’t want to talk about the _elephant_ in the room?” she snapped.

When Quinn opened her mouth to brush the entire thing under the rug, Santana cut over her and said, “Fuck you Quinn,” before slamming the door behind her.

Quinn ran a hand through her hair, still frustrated with the spot where Santana stood. She’d left the present—a blue box—on the floor in her fury and as Quinn bent down to pick it up and open it, she couldn’t deny the fact that the gift was touching, even if she’d never verbally admit it.

With the Winter Formal and Sectionals behind them, only finals stood in the way of winter break. At Dalton, Kurt Hummel found himself pouring over his notes from class in any and every nook and cranny he could find. By Wednesday he was exhausted and found himself seeking the comfort of the soft couches in one of the lounges. And because naturally the Big Man Upstairs was fond of humor, Kurt walked into the lounge where Blaine Anderson was staring blankly at a grand piano.

“Are you okay?” Kurt asked, approaching the piano bench.

“No,” Blaine croaked. His hands were hovering over the keys but he didn’t dare touch them, almost as if someone had ordered him not to.

“What happened?”

“I don’t think you’d really care to know,” Blaine said frankly.

“Try me,” Kurt said sitting down.

“Sam was here,” Blaine told him softly. “We had a fight. We’re not talking. He’s upset.” Kurt didn’t bother with asking why. After a few more moments of silence the questions answered themselves.

“I keep a lot of secrets,” Blaine continued, “from him and the rest of the guys because—because it’s easier. It’s better that way.”

“It sounds lonely,” Kurt said softly.

“It is,” Blaine conceded locking eyes with him, “but at least no one gets hurt.”

“You’re hurt,” Kurt pointed out. “And it sounds like Sam is hurt too. Are you sure it’s worth it?”

“I don’t know,” Blaine replied, his voice completely void of his normal confidence. “It’s never been this hard before.”

“Then maybe you weren’t meant to bear it alone,” Kurt said.

Blaine didn’t respond to that, but he did let his hands rest on the piano keys and the stiffness in his shoulders fell ever so slightly. Against his better wits, Kurt slid close to Blaine and nudged him lightly on the shoulder.

“Play something for me,” Kurt told him, “something that your mother taught you.”

A haunting, yet sweet melody danced lightly in the room as Blaine began to play and Kurt found a small smile reaching his face. It was a short song, Kurt imagined that it was probably one of the first songs that Blaine ever learned, aside from the obnoxious numbers like “Chopsticks” that were made to drive sane men mad.

“Thank you Kurt,” Blaine said when was finished.

“You’re welcome, Blaine,” Kurt replied, mimicking the awkward pause that Blaine put before his name, which caused a smile to grace the billionaire heir’s face.

“You should probably talk to them,” Kurt suggested.

“I know. I’m just not looking forward to it,” Blaine said. “It’s going to be one hell of a Christmas.”

“You’ll be okay,” Kurt insisted, reaching over to grab his bag.

“Don’t leave,” Blaine said quickly. “I’m not—just—”

“It’s okay,” Kurt said. “I’m going to draw, while you play.”

Miles from Kurt and Blaine’s solidary peace, Burt Hummel sat lurking over his mass of legislation when one of his assistants entered his office.

“Um, sir?” the young man said timidly as he walked into Representative Hummel’s office. “You asked me to speak privately with you if I ever found something in regard to that accident that your son had?”

“Yes, yes come in,” Burt said, ushering the young man into his office and allowing him to use his internet to reach a website. When Burt pressed play, he watched the video, from a handheld camera that one of Kurt’s attackers used, in silence. Even when it was over, neither man spoke until Burt Hummel finally addressed the young man.

“Good work Willis,” Burt said slowly. “I need you to do me another favor, though very quietly of course.”

“Do you want me to contact Senator Jones sir?”

“No, not yet. I need you to clear my schedule for tomorrow.”

“But sir, it’s just—wasn’t that Paul Karofsky’s son in the video? His re-election is coming up and—”

“I’m well aware Willis,” Burt snapped, his anger momentarily getting the best of him.

“Of course, I’ll get right on that,” Willis said leaving Burt. When the door closed behind him, Burt Hummel reached for his phone and quickly punched in the direct line code for a fellow Representative in the House.

“Carole? This is Burt. I need your help with something. It’s about my son.”


End file.
